


Front Man Redux

by ladyeternal



Series: Bindings 'verse [9]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Abduction, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Car Sex, Coercion, Dirty Talk, Episode: s01e13 Front Man, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Possessive Peter, Possessive Sex, Unethical Behavior by an F.B.I. Agent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7578310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another FBI agent convinces Hughes to assign Neal to assist her investigation when both abductor and abductee are tied to his past. But, as usual, nothing is ever what it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Angst, drama, romance, pr0n… These are the reasons we watch this show, except for the pr0n, which I am happy to supply. :-D
> 
> Spoilers: All aired episodes and the other fics in my [Bindings](http://aeternitas-nox.livejournal.com/8214.html) ‘verse.
> 
> Disclaimer: The series White Collar, its characters and settings are the property of their respective creators. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored, and am only playing with the White Collar world for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
> 
> Author’s Note: This fic has been sitting in my WIP folder for years. Actual years. *hangs head with shame* But it's finally ready to continue! My deepest apologies to everyone that has had to wait so long for this; I hope the read is worth the wait.
> 
> If you love my fics, whether a first time reader or a fan from the start, please comment! I love feedback; the more detailed, the better.
> 
> Title card by [](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/profile)[dawnie_faith](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/). Comments = Love. ♥
> 
> Music: [All Falls Down – Adelitas Way](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Lcm_6I9nx8)  
> [Clear the Area – Imogen Heap](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TmgoThUhKXY)  
> [I Will Find You – Clannad](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXCRskhLfEA)

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

_And that leads back to Moscow… no matter which way I go, I can’t track it out of the former Soviet bloc… Even backtracking doesn’t come up with any discrepancies…_ Neal stared down at the web of red marker lines on his map, dismantling and retracing the path with his eyes. _There’s something I’m not seeing… there has to be…_

“Byron _always_ got like that when he couldn’t crack a hustle.”

A chuckle left Neal as June’s voice broke into the tangle of his thoughts. He’d been obsessing over the trail the music box had taken for most of the morning, hoping to pin down something he’d missed. Alex still hadn’t responded to his missive and wasn’t likely to, no matter how tempting he made his message sound. He needed to track down every possible clue; Neal knew he couldn’t count on Alex’s help, even if she did agree to meet with him.

June’s intrusion into his unproductive brainstorming wasn’t unwelcome; in fact, her affection for him, her grace and her calm were almost as soothing to his nerves as the safety inherent in Peter’s presence. Her comparisons of Neal to her late, beloved husband was always a little startling, mostly because she always drew the parallels with fondness rather than the disapproval or contempt that others might. June knew what he was and had taken him in because of it, rather than in spite of it; it was part of why Neal had come to genuinely care for her.

“Relaxing always helps,” June offered, noting the tense line of his shoulders. It wasn’t the first time she’d wondered about the shadows that hovered around Neal, about the deep, pensive expression he wore that said he was planning something far outside his not-quite-legal escapades that he employed to assist the FBI. But June had lived in Neal’s world a very long time, longer than he’d even been alive, and she knew better than to ask for details.

“Sorry, June.” Neal turned back to the maps and computer print-outs and books strewn across the table. He’d hoped the fresh air of the rooftop patio would help him think more clearly, but a breakthrough wasn’t in the offing. “I’m not really in the mood to relax.”

“Not even if you have a very lovely visitor?”

Neal glanced up as June turned aside, revealing a familiar brunette just beyond the threshold of his suite. “Alex.” Her name was a breath of disbelief, speculation, calculation. More than ever, Neal was sure Alex held the key to the entire puzzle, and he wasn’t letting her go this time until he’d done everything possible to convince her to give him what he needed. June walked through the suite to leave and Neal followed, maintaining a casual gait as Alex shut the door behind his landlady.

“Got your message,” Alex informed him, her tone deceptively light as she paced away from him. She was keeping her distance from him and his blue-eyed wiles this time. “I’m here. What do you want, Neal?”

Now was no time to play coy; Neal had played that card with Alex before, and it had gotten him nowhere. Time to be direct. “I want the music box.”

Alex’s stance grew taut, her arms crossing almost defiantly. “I think you have a memory problem,” she remarked, sarcasm heavy in her tone. “Because I said that as long as you’re a fed, I’m not telling you where it is. You’re still with them, right?” Neal could only shrug in response, and Alex started past him. “Then there’s nothing to talk about.”

Reaching out as she passed him, Neal hooked an arm around Alex’s waist and pulled her sharply against his frame. Hip to hip, chest to chest, he stared down into her doeskin eyes and infused as much seduction into his tone as he could muster. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he husked softly. “You need me to get it.”

“No, I don’t.” Alex hated that her voice dropped into a near-whisper, hated how warmth uncurled where Neal’s hand rested against the small of her back. Neal was temptation personified, and she’d fallen victim to it more often than she cared to think about. It had to be different this time. She wouldn’t fall for his games again.

“Then why don’t you have it already?” Neal pressed, letting his hand fall to his side. Alex was no more temptation to him than Diana or Lauren now, but he wouldn’t… couldn’t let that show. He needed Alex to believe his seduction, needed to play this card as long as he could without making good on his innuendos. He wasn’t going to let this chance slip through his fingers. “I’ll steal it and give it to you.”

“Just like that?” Alex challenged.

“Just like that.”

“I don’t believe you.” Something in the timbre of his voice set off warnings in Alex’s head, even as tingles swept up her spine. “You’ll just hand it over?”

_Honesty… I have to be honest with her… if she finds out later, it’ll cost me at the worst possible time; I know her too well._ “Yeah… when I’m done with it.”

Understanding dawned, and Alex broke the spell of those blue eyes with a slow nod. “Knew there was a catch.” Stepping clear of his personal space, putting the protective buffer of empty air between them, Alex turned to face him again. “What’s this really about?”

“You get the box in the end,” Neal replied, avoiding the question entirely. He wasn’t going to explain the situation to Alex. Wasn’t going to risk her double-crossing him with Fowler. Kate, he didn’t want to believe would betray him that way. Alex, he knew would in a heartbeat, if she thought there was a deal to be made. “That’s my offer.”

_Now I know there’s more to this than just the box. Caffrey’s avoided the question every time I’ve asked._ “Okay,” she agreed gamely. “If you figure out how to get the anklet off.”

“I’m not wearing this as a fashion accessory,” Neal reminded her bluntly. This close to the end, Neal didn’t want to arouse Peter’s suspicions… didn’t want to deal with the ramifications of the decision he’d made. Peter couldn’t protect him in this without putting himself in danger, and that was the last thing Neal would allow if he could help it.

“When the time comes,” Alex purred, walking into his space and keeping her hands behind her back, “I need to know you can get off your leash. Otherwise you’re a liability.

“I’ll come back tomorrow at six,” she promised, turning on a touch of her own seductive wiles as she drew past him. “Lose the blinking jewelry… and you’ll get what you need.”

A touch to his chest. A lingering glance as she drew the door closed behind her. Neal knew in that moment she’d taken the bait… now it was only a question of keeping the line in the water for as long as possible before he had to cut her loose.

* * *

The time taken for the meeting with Alex had cost him; two minutes, the full length of her visit, had suddenly multiplied as Neal rushed to put away his research, to swallow something resembling breakfast, since his stomach’s requests for same had been ignored prior to her arrival. Traffic had swelled into near gridlock by the time Neal finally hailed a cab, and he fervently hoped Peter was either too busy to notice his tardiness or wouldn’t make an issue of it.

As it turned out so often in Neal’s life lately, his hope was in vain. “ _You_ were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago,” Peter advised him pointedly as Neal exited the elevator. “Where you been?”

Neal heard the impatience covering the worry and tried not to wince. Peter wasn’t going to be happy about his going after the music box or the steps he would need to take to do so. Likely, Peter was going to be furious with him. But Neal needed to handle this his way. Needed to keep Kate and Peter and everyone else out of the line of fire. “Late start to the morning.” Peter’s scowl grew a little darker, and Neal gave his best cowed expression as he removed his hat. “Won’t happen again.”

Peter didn’t buy the act for even half a minute. Neal was good at it, but Peter simply knew that sylph-esque body’s language too well. Opening the door for Neal, Peter caught sight of something on Neal’s shoulder; before he could stop himself, he’d reached up and plucked the strand from Neal’s suit.

Hair. Human. Long, wavy, brunette. Too long and light to be June’s or his own. Too naturally curling to be Elizabeth’s or Kate’s.

_Alex… he met with Alex this morning._

Peter felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach. Neal was late because of the music box. Worse still, he was lying about it. Keeping Peter out of the loop… again.

They’d had this discussion too often for Peter to imagine that Neal had simply forgotten Peter’s stance on the matter. Peter could only repeat himself so often. Neal trusted him, and Peter believed that; it wasn’t a question of that. Neal wasn’t keeping secrets because he didn’t trust Peter with the information; Peter was sure of it.

But whatever his reasons for keeping them, Neal needed reminding that Peter couldn’t catch him if he didn’t know Neal was falling.

“Who’s that?”

Irritation flashed across Peter’s face of a wholly different nature as Neal’s question brought him out of his musings and into the present. “Kimberly Rice… rising star in the Bureau.”

Neal caught the distaste, the professional disapproval. It was a measure of other agents Neal had quickly learned to trust. “You’re not a fan?”

“Nope.” Peter wanted to say more, but that could wait until he and Neal were alone. Rice liked the spotlight, enjoyed the accolades that came with public cases and dramatic resolutions. It never seemed, at least to Peter, that Rice was really interested in anything else. Safe returns equaled good press, and Peter couldn’t condone that being the base reason for being driven towards a high success rate. It was supposed to be about doing good, upholding the law, protecting innocent people; not another press clipping for one’s personal victory wall. “She works in Kidnapping and Missing Persons.”

Neal frowned. While kidnapping for ransom was technically a white collar crime, it made no sense for their team to be brought in. Abduction was too varied in its motives and modi operandi to be parceled out between other departments effectively, therefore warranting its own division that specialized in handling such cases. “What’s she doing in White Collar?”

“She’s here to see you,” Peter replied dryly.

_That’s not good… that’s not a good sign at all._ Neal’s eyes went wide and innocent. “Whatever I did, I have proof I didn’t do it,” he blurted.

_Oh, sweetheart… I’ll bet you do. And I’ll bet I’d even believe it._ Before Peter could respond to that bit of outrageousness aloud, Hughes came out of his office with Rice on his heels, pausing on the walkway to jab two fingers in Neal and Peter’s direction, then hook them back in silent summons. “Here we go,” Peter muttered.

“We just got the finger point.” Neal suddenly wished for nothing more than to go back to June’s and hide… preferably in a nest of warm sheets with a naked Peter to keep him company.

“The double-finger-point,” Peter corrected, his stomach sinking. Hughes looked… irritated. Whatever Rice wanted, she was obviously going after it like a dog with a marrow-bone and wasn’t treating Hughes with anything resembling the respect he deserved. Another black mark against her in Peter’s book.

“Must be serious.” Neal fell in as Peter led the way up to the conference room; he could see in the set of Peter’s shoulders that Peter was in protective mode again, ready to shield Neal from anything that might harm him, any threat that might present itself.

It was that very attitude that scared Neal to death when it came to Fowler. Fowler had already targeted Peter twice, was escalating his offensives. Neal didn’t want to think about what might happen if Peter got between him and Fowler again. Better to give Fowler what he wanted, get Fowler out of their lives, set Kate free and find out if she had really been playing him false all this time…

If Neal had been thinking clearly, he might have remembered that men like Fowler never stopped once the victim caved; the first surrender was never the last. He might have surmised that explaining himself to Peter, talking out not only what he intended to do but the reasons he had kept Peter in the dark so often, some kind of collaborative plan might have resulted that would deal with Fowler permanently. But he couldn’t get past his own protective nature, couldn’t see the danger inherent in his plan. Could only see that Peter and Kate were targets because of him, and the guilt over that blinded him to sensible precautions.

He couldn’t see that the attitude which so frightened him about Peter was precisely what drove him to act in the same manner, protecting Peter at all costs, and that each man’s behavior was fueling the other’s.

“Rice.” Peter’s tone was coldly civil as he entered the conference room, restraining his active disapproval of the woman because of Hughes’ presence.

Rice felt the need for no such restraint. Her echo of Peter’s surname dripped with something very close to open contempt, an emotion which dissolved swiftly when Neal entered the room. “And you must be _the_ Neal Caffrey.” She reached for his hand with a warm, open smile that denoted the usual appreciation women displayed for his beauty. “Agent Kimberly Rice.”

Neal took her hand and wasn’t fooled for a moment by the act. He’d curbed his flirtations with women since starting his physical relationship with Peter, and the insincerity he felt coming off this woman in waves was no incentive to rekindle them. “I’ve just heard _wonderful_ things about you,” he lied, pasting on his own disingenuous smile.

There was a flicker in her gaze, a waver in the mask of geniality she’d pasted on to greet him. Neal could see that she suspected Peter of disparaging her to Neal before their arrival in the conference room: a sign of barely constrained hostility between them. _That’s going to complicate matters… if she resents Peter, that’s probably gonna transfer to me. No matter what she wants, that’s not gonna be fun to deal with **at all**._

“Let’s get straight to it,” Hughes ordered quietly, trying to head off either a salvo of thinly veiled insults or an outright confrontation between the two agents. They had time for neither at the moment, nor did he have patience. “We’ve got a ransom situation.”

“Name’s Lindsey Gless,” Rice advised, her tone brusque and business-like as she slid a photo of the girl across the table. Neal noted the way she paced back when Hughes did, maintaining physical proximity in an attempt to cloak herself in his authority in front of Peter. It betrayed a certain amount of insecurity at the same time it telegraphed a blatant attempt to assert dominance. Neal wondered how much of that was due to working in the FBI in general and how much was due to Peter in particular. “She was grabbed last night in a home invasion; she’s the daughter of Stuart Gless.”

“As in the CEO of Atlantic Partners,” Peter added. “The company whose bonds you were convicted of forging.”

_Yes… because I needed you to remind me who he was. I needed you to refresh my memory about exactly what I went to prison for… as if I could ever forget those names._ Neal’s entire body went stiff, his collar feeling far too tight, and he rather fervently wished now to just have called in sick. “What’s this kidnapping got to do with me?” Neal snapped, focusing on Agent Rice rather than seeking refuge in Peter’s eyes.

“You have a history with our prime suspect,” Rice advised, turning to Hughes, who had been perusing a file.

Hughes passed the file to Peter, gazing intently at Neal. “Ryan Wilkes… you know him?”

Neal hesitated, the name bringing up even more bad memories. _Really, really should have called in sick today…_ When Peter prompted him, his name laced heavily with expectation, Neal let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and plunged in. “Yeah… yeah. He runs his own little crime syndicate. They work everything from grand theft auto to extortion.”

“And you used to run with him?”

It had barely been a question; Rice’s tone assumed it as truth merely requiring confirmation. Combined with the posturing in her body language, her entire attitude was setting Neal off like fireworks in July. The panic edging his senses was getting worse, and Neal had to fight down the defensiveness in his voice as he responded. “That’s a rumor.”

“Neal.” Peter sensed Neal’s recalcitrance, wished he had time to analyze it. He could feel that Rice was agitating Neal and the hostility between she and Peter likely wasn’t helping matters; but with Hughes in the room, looking up at Neal expectantly, Peter didn’t have the space to put the buffer he’d have liked between Neal and Rice. It was best to just get this over with quickly so he could get Neal away from her.

The tone of Peter’s voice brought Neal to heel, reminding him that Peter was in his corner. And there was an innocent girl in need of rescue. “We _may_ have tried working together once, but… our styles didn’t mesh.”

“What makes you think Wilkes took the girl?” Peter almost demanded, hoping to pull the focus off Neal long enough to allow Neal to collect himself.

“Chatter from our CIs puts Wilkes in town,” Rice responded smoothly. “We also found plasticene clay in a lock at the crime scene.”

“Someone made a copy of the key,” Peter concluded.

“Yeah: it’s Wilkes MO.” Rice was in command of the room now; Hughes was seated just behind her, letting she and Peter have the floor. “That’s why we need Neal.”

_It’s a convincing theory… and if Neal knows anything that will get this girl back to her father…_ Much as he hated to do it, Peter had to concede that Neal would be useful for Rice’s investigation. He met Neal’s eyes, questioning him, asking whether or not it was safe to disclose anything to this woman. Peter could only nod back in Rice’s direction. “Neal.”

_Here goes…_ “Stuart Gless likes to eat lunch as Ristorante Laurienzo every Thursday… at least he used to.” At Rice’s glance and Hughes’ questioning gesture, Neal realized he would need to expound on that information’s significance. It wasn’t something he usually needed to do; Peter could often finish Neal’s sentences, and it didn’t take much for Peter to see where Neal’s trains of thought were headed. “There’s only one valet there; makes it easy to get your hands on his keys? Wilkes wanted to get into his house; he’d probably start there. I’d check the security tapes.”

“That’s good… that’s good.” Rice was obviously impressed with Neal’s insight, but the glances she was exchanging with Peter were loaded with anything but praise. In fact, the one she leveled now was downright arrogant. “I’d like to borrow Caffrey for the remainder of my case.”

Peter balked at the very idea. Rice’s request had a strong odor of having already gotten the okay from Hughes, provided Neal had demonstrated he could offer some assistance, which Neal had just done admirably; her peremptory demeanor was another of the reasons Peter disliked her as an agent. “If Wilkes is behind this,” Peter asked, directing the question at Hughes, “don’t you think it’s dangerous to put Caffrey on his trail?”

“Caffrey’s proven he can take care of himself,” Hughes replied shortly.

There wasn’t going to be any way to argue out of this one. Neal could see that, even if Peter didn’t want to. With a quick shake of his head, he told Peter to curtail his objections, grateful that Peter understood the nonverbal cue. The last thing Neal wanted right now was Peter in protective mode making Hughes angry with him.

A moment was all the silence lasted. “Neal, starting immediately, you report to Agent Rice,” Hughes finished.

“All right, great.” Rice moved along swiftly, obviously never having doubted she would get what she wanted. “Now that we’re all on the same page, let’s start with an easy one.” She looked directly at Neal, her tone and demeanor almost like she was questioning a suspect rather than speaking with a consultant. “When’s the last time you saw Wilkes?”

Neal’s eyes lowered, taking in the photo of Lindsey on the table. _This isn’t about me, or Peter… it’s not about anything other than Lindsey Gless, an innocent girl who needs our help… and my own karma coming to back to bite me. Peter’s gonna hate this…_ “Probably when he tried to kill me,” he replied, his voice measured.

Peter’s expression grew dark; Neal couldn’t look at him, not in front of Hughes. If he looked, he’d react: try to soothe that expression, reassure Peter that he was whole and safe, and it would give far too much away.

“What happened?” Hughes asked, his tone quietly curious.

Neal could imagine the efficacy of that voice in interrogations, once upon a time. Hughes might not reciprocate, but he’d earned Neal’s respect. “A deal Wilkes was planning seemed… unnecessarily violent. I undercut him and walked away with everything he’d been after, and I made sure he knew it was me. I’d sort’ve… lost my temper. He didn’t appreciate the object lesson; I went underground until the heat died down. We haven’t had contact in years and I’ve done everything I can to keep it that way.”

“Is there any reason to believe the girl’s already dead?”

Another deceptively soft question. Neal ignored the way his mind painted an image of the girl’s corpse and answered as honestly as he could. “Not likely, especially if a ransom’s being asked. Wilkes is violent, but he’s not stupid. He’s not naïve enough to try the whole ‘don’t call law enforcement’ schtick, so he knows proof of life will be expected eventually. His people will be under strict instructions to subdue if she tries anything, but not to kill. And his people don’t last long if they make mistakes.”

All three agents looked somewhat relieved. Rice started from the room after a glance at Hughes. “Let’s go, Caffrey. I want you down at my crime scene.”

Sparing a last wide-eyed glance at Peter, wishing there was any way Peter could come along, Neal fell in behind Rice at a quick trot, grabbing his coat and hat as they passed his desk.

Peter looked at Hughes, his expression guarded but unhappy. “I don’t like this, Hughes.”

“Beside the point, Peter.” Hughes looked up at his agent, his expression grave. “Caffrey is a consultant for the FBI White Collar Crime Unit, and we can’t afford to parsimonious with specialized resources like him if we expect other departments to assist us when we need it.”

“It’s still my unit,” Peter returned stiffly. “And Caffrey trusts me. Name me one other FBI agent that can handle him.”

Hughes sighed, standing up from his chair. “It is your unit, Peter… under my direction, until they let me retire again. And when that happens, you might just find yourself being the one invited to take my place.” He watched the startled look blossom across Peter’s face. “That chair gets pulled out for you, Peter, and you’ll have to be ready to make decisions that go beyond what your agents might want or not want. You have to consider a larger picture.

“Caffrey’s your consultant: you brought him in and you handle him better than anyone could expect. He stays the course, and he might just get an offer for a real consulting position when these three years are over. But those credentials he carries say he consults for the Federal Bureau of Investigations, not just Special Agent Peter Burke. Rice is a damned good agent who gets the job done, and your expertise at handling Caffrey isn’t a good enough reason for me to reassign you to her case. Go back to your team; work on your open cases. Caffrey can handle himself.”

Startled into silence, somewhat chagrined by the reminder that Neal wasn’t really his own personal consultant for his private use, Peter nodded and turned to leave. He paused at the door and turned back. “Sorry, Reese… Caffrey’s just…”

“Your personal project.” Hughes nodded. “I know. You have no idea how well I know, Peter. He’s come a long way, and don’t think I, and the people above me, don’t recognize that’s thanks to you. But you can’t keep your hand on his leash forever; sooner or later, you’re going to have to let go.”

Hughes couldn’t have known how hard that dose of reality would slam through Peter; would never know, as Peter concealed everything except a slightly bruised expression in his dark russet eyes at the thought. But Peter could feel his hold on Neal slipping from all quarters, and Hughes had just pointedly reminded Peter that the moment when he would lose that hold was likely inevitable. “Yeah… I know. Thanks, Reese.” Turning back, Peter went to find Jones and attempt to get something accomplished today.

Without Neal.


	2. Part One

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Neal couldn’t say this was the worst morning of his life. Honestly, it wasn’t even in the top ten. He hadn’t wanted to come here to begin with. A face-to-face with Gless after all this time was as far from his to-do list as he could imagine, and Rice hadn’t given a damn one way or the other. But Rice _dismissing_ him like a willful child because he’d _dared_ to ask a question of Gless, sending him out to the car like a child to their room without dessert… it was poorly-mixed icing on a tasteless cake.

He’d gotten used to the respect Peter’s team gave him, the inclusive, cohesive feel of the unit. Peter fostered that atmosphere, was as effective a leader as he was an agent alone: humble enough to accept ideas from others, strong enough to take control when necessary, willing to treat Neal like a man rather than a felon. Neal hadn’t really appreciated the difference between Peter and other agents until today… especially with the words “tool in my belt” still ringing in his ears.

All the more reason to keep Peter as far from Fowler and the music box as he possibly could. Nothing could happen to Peter. Nothing could be allowed to happen that would jeopardize Peter’s life or livelihood. Neal couldn’t allow anything to happen to Peter.

A tap on the window had his head snapping around. Russet eyes sparkled with amusement in the early afternoon light, and Neal felt the world tip back into alignment at the sight of them. He rolled down the window immediately, almost unreasonably grateful for his lover’s presence. “Peter… didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, I had a case in the neighborhood; thought I’d drop by.” Peter could hear the edge to the feigned nonchalance in Neal’s voice and wanted to erase it. Things obviously weren’t going well between Rice and Neal, if Neal being in the car rather than inside the house was any indication. And Peter knew the case was likely to wear on Neal’s already frayed emotional state without any added stress.

Neal didn’t buy Peter’s faux-casual tone any more than Peter believed his. Was more glad of that fact than he could say. He’d hoped Peter would find a way to get involved, or at least check on him, over the course of this case; he had a feeling he would need the stability Peter offered him before it was over. “Uh-huh. I’m touched: you can’t handle being apart from me.”

It was a tease, Peter knew. A hint of a taunt that wasn’t supposed to be a commentary on their relationship or Peter’s true emotions. But the statement sank home and resonated, and Peter recognized the truth of it. El had known it, had seen it at lunch and pushed him to come down and see Neal. Somehow, his wife always managed to know how he felt about Neal long before Peter did himself. “No.”

The gravity of that tone… the echo of deep velvet that rumbled in his ear in the night… Neal deflected on instinct, afraid of where the conversation might go if he didn’t… afraid of answers he wasn’t ready for yet. “So this has nothing to do with looking over Rice’s shoulder?”

“No; don’t read into it,” Peter warned. It was about that, but only where her handling of his sweetheart was concerned. Neal belonged to him, and deep in his gut Peter resented anyone other than himself handling Neal in any fashion. “So… how’s it going with Rice? I see she’s got you babysitting the car.”

The reminder soured Neal’s disposition instantly. Whyever Peter was here, it wasn’t to take over the case and rescue him from Rice. No matter how long Peter had here, eventually he would have to leave again; Neal needed to absorb as much of Peter’s presence as he could now to inure himself against the way Rice triggered him later on. “She called me a tool in her belt,” he informed Peter, trying to keep his tone from sounding petulant.

Peter tried not to laugh; it sounded like Rice, and Neal sounded thoroughly put out. He wanted to lean into the car and kiss those not-quite-pouting lips until Neal smiled again, restraining himself for the thousandth time since the start of their relationship. “I bet you’re really starting to miss working with me now.” _If we can just make it through… if I can just hold onto you for the next three years… you can set your own contract and only consult on my cases… sweetheart, we just need to hold on…_

 _You have no idea, Peter… I’ve missed it almost from the moment I walked away from you in the office this morning._ “No,” Neal teased, trying to keep the conversation light. He could tell Peter later how much he missed Peter’s solid, comforting presence while they worked… could _show_ him later. “No… but I _could_ stretch my legs.” Peter grinned at him, obviously pleased with the idea of having Neal closer, and opened the car door for him. Neal was surprised by the chivalrousness of the gesture. “Thank you.”

“While we’re out here,” Peter started mildly, enjoying the light banter of their little pretense and not wanting to let it go quite yet. “And you’re stretching your legs… wouldn’t hurt to look around.” When Neal uttered a near-silent ‘no’, shaking his head, Peter let the game slide away. “You know Wilkes’ M.O.; how would he handle an operation like this?”

And then it was back, like they’d never been apart, slotting together like pieces of a puzzle. Neal could hear the respect Peter had for his expertise, the willingness to listen where another might not, the honest desire to see the case solved and the girl rescued that left no room for personal egos. “A home invasion? Theoretically, he’d have a driver, a strong man and a lookout.” Peter nodded, waiting for more, and Neal all but forgot that they weren’t working the case together. “Wilkes wouldn’t trust anyone else to grab the girl; he’d handle that himself.”

“So he’s the strong man. Commendable.” Peter felt it, too; knew this was something only they could achieve. Neal would never work like this with anyone else, because no one else would trust him or listen to him the way Peter did. Neal would never trust anyone the way he did Peter. “That leaves the driver right outside there,” he continued, pointing at the most convenient place the car could have parked for a fast exit from the house. “Now where was the lookout?”

“Sight lines are clean from there…” Neal pointed to a nearby park, then back towards a stairwell descending below street level. “There.”

“So you get better cover in the park,” Peter offered. He could see Neal’s mind ticking away, reasoning out how he would have conducted the same crime… was grateful that Neal had never engaged in criminal behavior that could potentially have physically harmed another person. He didn’t know what they would be if Neal had; knew he wouldn’t be able to trust Neal to nearly the same extent if Neal hadn’t confined his targets to those whose egos and finances could survive the blow.

“Yeah, but the alley gives you eyes on both sides of the street and the intersection,” Neal disagreed.

Peter could see no reason to argue; Neal had called it, and Peter had learned not to gainsay him. “Let’s go there.”

Side by side, swift and sure. Neal couldn’t ignore the way Peter’s warmth called to him, spawning an urge to wrap himself into those powerful arms for protection and never let go. Wilkes’ shadows seemed to be everywhere, but Peter’s very presence held them at bay, reducing them from threatening monsters to harmless shades. The stairs were covered in recent footprints and minor debris; Neal could easily see that it was far too recent to be unrelated. “Yeah… somebody’s been here. Looking both directions.”

“Making sure the coast is clear,” Peter agreed. Something amidst the detritus caught his eye, and Peter removed a handkerchief from his pocket as he descended a few stairs to retrieve it without damaging possible fingerprints. “Coat check stub,” he advised Neal when he recognized its purpose. “No name or address; I’ll get it to ERT, see if they can recognize it.”

“Don’t bother,” Neal replied easily. “It’s from a club… more like an underground casino. It’s one of Wilkes’ old hangouts.”

Peter smiled. _This_ was why he worked with Neal the way he did; the reason he gave Neal so much unilateral headway when they worked a case. Rice would never have known about the coat check stub, or if it had been found, would have to waste time seeing if ERT could identify the business it belonged to. Time Lindsey Gless didn’t have. “Nice of them to leave this behind for us,” he observed with a smirk.

“God, where’s Caffrey?”

Rice’s voice echoed back to them, exasperation evident in her tone. Peter glanced up first, seeing Rice turn and spot them, irritation crossing what might be lovely features if a perpetually arrogant scowl weren’t the default expression for her face. “Oh, look,” Peter prompted Neal, who looked up to see Rice as well and stood to let Peter up from the stairs. “This ought to be fun.”

“You find gloves?” Neal called, falling in beside Peter and wishing their time together wasn’t about to be cut so short.

“There’s a fresh print inside the index finger,” Rice told him, admitting tacitly that Neal’s information had been useful before handing the evidence bag containing the gloves to one of her subordinate agents. “I want this pulled and sent to me ASAP. What do you think you’re doing here, Agent Burke?”

“Helping you solve your case,” Peter replied smoothly, pointing to the descending stairwell behind them. “Somebody spent some time watching from over there and dropped this…” Peter held up the coat check stub, still clasped in the handkerchief. “Which, according to my source, came from an underground club.”

Rice seemed nonplussed by the evidence find, her face an unreadable mask. Neal didn’t like it. “Then that’s our next stop.”

“No.” Neal felt much more confident speaking with Peter at his elbow, no longer afraid that his expertise would be denigrated or dismissed. “No, Wilkes won’t be there with the girl. If the FBI shows up, he’ll go to ground and cut his losses.” _Which means someone cuts the girl’s throat, ransom or no ransom._

“So why don’t you put on your dancing shoes, Caffrey?” Rice asked, false brightness highlighting the sarcastic tone in her voice. “You’re going clubbing. And Peter, next time I find you on my scene, I’m filing a report.”

Peter put on the most falsely serious expression Neal had ever seen in his life. “You can’t tell, but right now? Deep down? I’m petrified.”

The deadpan delivery very nearly pulled an actual giggle out of Neal. He ducked his head to hide it in the face of Rice’s infuriated expression as she snatched the stub from Peter’s grip and turned to walk away.

Neal didn’t want to go with her. Knew he didn’t have a choice if he wanted to stay out of prison and keep Peter out of trouble. Starting after her, however, Neal couldn’t resist spinning to face Peter and walking backwards for a few steps, just long enough to bestow an honest grin on his lover. “Nice!” he hissed, openly admiring, before he turned forward again to follow Rice into the car.

No matter how often it might happen, impressing Neal never failed to make Peter smile. Content that his lover was, if unhappy, at least safe, Peter turned and walked to the Taurus, ready to work his open cases again.

* * *

Convincing Rice that he would need time to prepare for the undercover excursion into Wilkes’ casino club took time, and what made it worse was that she seemed determined to keep Neal waiting attendance on her team for as long as possible. Most of Neal’s day was spent sitting and waiting, being thoroughly ignored until a question arose that Rice or her two immediate subordinates wanted answered.

The only thing that made it bearable was Peter. The moment they reached the FBI building, Neal could feel Peter’s presence a few floors away, a balm to his soul. He surreptitiously fussed with his Blackberry to pass the time, making contingency plans for possible locations that Alex would give him for the music box. He already had a plan to get the anklet off tonight. He just hoped he could parlay that into something that would last through tomorrow evening.

Finally, when Neal was almost certain he would freshening up in the men’s room five minutes before walking into the club, Rice batted a dismissive hand at him. “All right, Caffrey: get out of here. Be ready at eight sharp.”

Neal almost ran from the room, barely able to contain his joy at being released. Glancing at his watch as the elevator made its way to him, Neal calculated swiftly. Time enough for a quick trip to a couturier… Thomas Pink, perhaps; he’d been meaning to stop in. But even more quickly… if they timed things just right…

The elevator stopped on the twenty-first floor and Neal slipped off looking like he had all the time in the world. His presence startled Jones and the others, who knew he was working with agent Rice’s team, but Neal merely flashed them a charming smile and walked right by.

That smile wavered as desire punched through him when Peter emerged from the conference room just as Neal was ascending the stairs. “Peter?”

Peter blinked, turning. “Neal? What are you doing up here?”

“Rice let me go until the club thing later.” Neal had a hard time keeping the excitement constrained. He wasn’t sure Peter would go for this… “Feel like grabbing dinner with me?”

The brightness in those eyes… the throb in that voice… Peter found he couldn’t say no. Didn’t want to listen to the thousand objections that started cropping up in his head. “Why not? El already knows I’m working late tonight.” Grabbing his jacket from his office, Peter joined Neal on the way out.

Once back in the elevator, Neal was barely keeping inside his own skin. “Why are you working late? Without me around, I’d figure you’d cut out early, see Elizabeth.”

Peter smiled indulgently. “Sweetheart… I go home when you do tonight. Which means I don’t leave the office until I know this little undercover trip Rice has planned goes off without a hitch.”

The words tugged at Neal’s heart, and he almost broke their rule about affection in the elevator. He was saved when the carriage stopped on the twelfth floor and another pair of agents got on, intending to go home themselves.

Neal’s restraint made it to the Taurus. He was surprised at himself. But that’s as far as he got.

Before Peter could protest Neal was across the space between them and kissing his jaw, fingers working swiftly at Peter’s trousers and sliding inside Peter’s boxers. A breath hissed out of Peter as Neal’s hand wrapped around him, and then he was pressing at Neal’s shoulders, trying to keep some sort of control over the situation. “Neal… not here…”

“Where?” Neal was shocked at how low and needy his voice sounded, even as his fingertips slowly traced the curve of Peter’s arousal within the confines of his clothing.

Desperate himself, Peter threw the car into reverse and found the first place he could think of.

The top floor of a nearby parking garage was dimly lit, but empty. It suited Peter’s purposes well enough. The front seat was pushed and canted back as far as it would go and Neal was in his lap, straddling him. Reaching inside his clothing again and kissing him as though the world might end. Peter found a spare handkerchief, having no idea whose was now tucked in Neal’s hot, slender hand, but he didn’t care as he navigated Neal’s fly blindly and his hand sought out Neal’s own arousal.

It was quicker and dirtier than anything they’d done so far. Certainly far more clandestine than either would have liked. Skin craved skin, and Peter’s lips skirted away from the edges of Neal’s clothing as if it were made from razor wire. Neal moaned into his neck, lips finding Peter’s ear, tiny brushes of contact that sent heat pooling at the base of Peter’s spine.

“Wish we had more time,” Neal murmured, usually suave voice wrecked with need. “Want you inside me… want to ditch my clothes and ride you… I will later, if you let me. We’ll come back here, dead of night, and I’ll slide everything out of the way and go right down… God, Peter… want you in me so bad…”

The husky declaration had Peter arching up into Neal’s grip, twisting his wrist and tightening his fingers in the way he knew Neal loved, shaking from how badly he needed that image… how much he needed Neal… that silken, reedy voice nearly whined his name as Peter’s thumb swept across the tip of Neal’s erection, dragging through the slickness gathering there just before Peter’s wrist twisted on the downstroke…

Neal’s hand gave a convulsive jerk as he shook apart in Peter’s arms, an unexpectedly rough jolt of sensation that tipped Peter over the edge, crying Neal’s name into Neal’s mouth as it found his in desperate need for connection.

For long, unsteady moments, they hung there, suspended in time, lost in each other. Peter’s free hand made little stuttery caresses over Neal’s back, while Neal’s unencumbered fingers traced nonsense patterns over the lines of Peter’s cheek and jaw. Kisses exchanged of their own volition, flares of tenderness in the dark that spoke more than the words either would dare say aloud.

Finally, Peter broke the silence. “So… dinner?”

Neal let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah… and I need to get to the Thomas Pink boutique before they close. I don’t want to wear my Devore into the club.”

“Just in case?” Peter hated to ask, didn’t even want to think about the possibilities. Rice’s team would cover the street; Peter was sure of that. But without him there, or someone he trusted with his own life, it felt like Neal was going in alone…

Neal caught the meaning hanging in the air. Knew how worried Peter was, a reflection of his own fears. But he merely smiled, a gamine reassuring smile that flashed almost-white in the dim yellow light of the parking garage. “Yeah… you never know what some drunken high roller could spill on you as they stumble away from their table.”

Peter laughed, kissing those grinning lips, and began putting Neal back together. “And you can’t risk couture.”

“The Devores are irreplaceable, Peter,” Neal said reasonably, tucking Peter back in with gentle, almost reverent touches. He loved everything about Peter, wanted to worship all that Peter was. “Meet me at June’s when it’s over?”

Another soft kiss, and Peter was slowly lifting Neal off him, settling him into the passenger seat and putting the driver’s seat back into its usual position. “It’s a date, sweetheart. Now let’s get something to eat.”

* * *

Waiting was always the hardest part of any operation. Waiting for information to come back, waiting for one of the leads they chased to result in a break, waiting for the perfect moment to move in for the arrest. The largest part of any investigation was that seemingly interminable limbo, making patience the most important virtue of them all for any federal agent.

Peter _hated_ the wait. At least, he hated it when it involved staying in the office while Neal worked the case somewhere else, and Peter had no way of knowing if Neal was getting himself hip-deep into trouble without him there to back Neal up.

A series of rapid beeps went off on his computer, making Peter’s head snap up from where he’d been standing at the end staring blank-eyed at his other active case files. The website showing the live feed from Neal’s anklet was always up on his computer; usually, it was in the background, but Peter had kept it on the main screen tonight as something of a security blanket.

It was flashing an alert that the signal from the anklet had gone dead: the result of the anklet being cut open without prior notice to the monitoring unit.

Peter moved around the front side of his desk; he’d been too keyed up since Rice had left the office to go pick Neal up for the operation to sit down and this certainly wasn’t helping. Checking the feed, it was definitely not his paranoia about Neal playing tricks on him. The anklet signal had been lost, not deactivated. “Jones?”

Jones had been standing just outside Peter’s office purely by coincidence, turning away from his conversation with Sherman towards the concerned note in Peter’s voice. “Yeah?”

“Caffrey just cut his anklet.”

Normally, when anything about Neal’s anklet signal was unusual, Jones was already moving before Peter finished the sentence. The lack of urgency in Jones’ posture this time, therefore, was even more disconcerting than the fact that Neal’s anklet had been unexpectedly removed. “Yeah,” Jones offered, his tone matter-of-fact. “Rice cleared it.”

“Rice?” Alarms having nothing to do with Neal’s tracking signal started going off in Peter’s head. Something was wrong here… very, very wrong.

_If Neal was supposed to be off anklet for this op, then the Marshalls should’ve been notified; the signal should’ve been turned off like it has been before, and another more discreet tracker of some kind put on him to replace it. He’s never really off monitoring, especially not if he’s being sent in undercover. Why the Hell would Rice send him into that club completely unmonitored?_

Unaware that he’d begun moving, Peter nonetheless went down the short stairs into the main bullpen, glancing around for signs of… he wasn’t initially sure what he was looking for. Jones had followed him on instinct, but Peter ignored his best agent’s presence for the moment. He needed to see the whole picture…

None of Rice’s agents were on the floor. No one else had a monitoring screen up, though he supposed they could’ve had it in the background like he usually did when he was working and keeping tabs on Neal at the same time. But the bullpen was only populated by their people… no one from Rice’s team was here…

Which would not have been remarkable if it weren’t for the fact that Stuart Gless was drifting at the edges of the coffee area like a restless ghost.

_He shouldn’t just be here by himself… he shouldn’t even be here at all. He should be at home, waiting with Rice’s agents for either another call from Wilkes or the successful return of his daughter… what the Hell is going on here?_

Peter crossed the distance to where Gless was standing at the counter, indecision and fear radiating from the man’s entire body. Without asking first, Peter picked up the insulated pitcher and began pouring a mug of coffee for the man. “Mr. Gless, right?” Gless made a non-committal sound in response. “I’m Agent Peter Burke; how you holding up?”

“Oh, had to get out of the house,” Gless replied. Anxiety and what Peter surmised was a predictable lack of sleep made the other man’s voice reedy and cracked as he moved to sit back at the small table. “Agent Rice said I could wait here.”

Peter couldn’t help feeling a little more contempt for Rice at that. Cases involving kidnap victims and hostages could go either way once the recovery operation started, and if family or loved ones were waiting at the F.B.I. offices, there was no way to shield them if something went wrong. Peter firmly believed that, if such cases went pear-shaped, those anxiously waiting for the return of their loved ones should be told the bad news at home, gently, so that their grief could begin somewhere with a modicum of privacy.

Still, it was better to hold his tongue on that point, especially since being privy to any enmity between the agents working to return his daughter safely would only exacerbate Gless’ anxiety. So a murmured “of course” was his only response as he poured another mug of coffee for himself.

Perhaps spurred on by Peter’s sympathetic presence, or just a chance to alleviate his nervousness for his daughter by having another warm body to interact with, Gless continued talking. “I didn’t expect Caffrey to be so charming. This would be so much easier if he… acted more like a criminal.”

Much as Peter wanted to bristle in Neal’s defense, Peter once again kept his thoughts to himself. Neal _was_ a criminal, when all was said and done: no matter how hard Peter might be trying to give Neal an alternative outlet for the instincts that made him such a phenomenally good one. And Gless’ professional reputation had taken a heavy blow when Neal’s forgery of his bonds had been revealed. Gless had a right to mixed emotions about Neal’s involvement, and Peter wasn’t going to try and bring Gless around on the matter. If Lindsey was returned to her father safely, that would balance the scales far better than anything Peter could say.

Still, something about the way Gless had phrased that didn’t feel right… and that something played into the already unsettled feeling that Rice sending Neal in with no tracking of any kind had inspired.

Gless was a nervous talker; Peter could already tell that much. Interrogations were almost child’s play with nervous talkers; the less the interrogator said, the more the talker would try to explain, to fill in the silence and make the other person understand. “Yeah, of course,” Peter said again, hoping Gless would elaborate.

Though he didn’t know whether he hoped that Gless knew something that would give a solid foundation for his fears, or that his fears were baseless and there was nothing for Gless to know. That there would be some reason to intervene and pull Neal out and take over the investigation, or that he was just being paranoid and territorial and that both Neal and Lindsey would come out of this safe and sound.

“I just hope this goes right,” Gless continued.

Peter smiled at him, genuinely feeling for the man’s concerns. They were both nervous for the safety of someone important to them, after all. Just because Peter was fishing for information that might not exist didn’t mean he couldn’t empathize. “If it helps, I can walk you through it,” Peter offered, joining Gless at the table. “What are you worried about most?”

“The meeting,” Gless answered immediately.

“The meeting,” Peter echoed, the alarms in his head getting louder. No one had said anything about a meeting… and while Neal was known to take chances without informing Peter about it, Neal didn’t trust Rice enough to agree to a game plan she concocted without at least telling Peter what was going to go down. Tonight was supposed to be covert surveillance and information gathering only. “What troubles you about that?” he prompted carefully.

“The kidnapper calls, then asks for a meeting with Caffrey in exchange for Lindsey?”

Peter’s blood went cold in his veins.

“That seems too easy,” Gless continued, skepticism heavy in his tone. How much of that was due to his well-founded mistrust of Neal and how much was merely worry for his daughter was impossible to determine.

But Peter couldn’t think about that now. Couldn’t even begin to parse it out. All he could seem to hear was the roaring of his own heartbeat in his ears, a heavy, deadly rhythm behind the words that had confirmed the worst of his unnamed fears.

Wilkes had demanded Neal in exchange for Lindsey, and they were meeting on his ground. Neal wasn’t being tracked in any way, and his back-up was a team of agents that didn’t value or trust him.

_It’s a trap. It’s a trap it’s atrap it’satrap_

“Yeah,” Peter finally breathed, though how he managed it without screaming was beyond him. Only years of discipline held his reactions in check, everything rigidly controlled to keep from frightening an already frightened man. “Excuse me.” Not waiting for a response, Peter shoved away from the table and walked out of Gless’ earshot, dragging his phone from his pocket and dialing Neal as he did so.

He prayed as the phone rang, desperately hoping that he’d figured this out in time… that Neal had sensed something off and had called the whole thing off…

Neal picked up on the second ring. _“Peter, I’m kindve in the middle of something right now, okay?_

The annoyance in Neal’s tone made Peter want to cry in relief. If Neal was letting through an emotion like that, there was still time for him to get out of there. He held it in check, concentrating on getting Neal to believe him… on getting Neal to safety… “You need to get out of there right now,” he ordered, his tone sharp.

_“What are you talking about?”_

_For once, Neal, can’t you just do what I ask without question?!_ Peter couldn’t hide the urgency in his voice, heard the fear cracking through as he willed Neal to understand before it was too late. “Neal, _you’re the ransom_.”

A crackle, sharper than static. A truncated cry of pain. The clatter of the cell phone as it hit the ground, and the sickening thud of dead weight hitting pavement shortly following.

“Neal? Neal?” Panic roared to life in his gut, clawing its way up through his chest and into his throat, fighting to become a ragged scream. “Neal!?”

Nothing. Empty air. And then a sickening crunch-shriek as something heavy was slammed down onto Neal’s Blackberry and the line went dead.

_Wilkes has Neal._

It was almost impossible, took more strength than he’d thought himself capable of, but Peter refused to allow himself the hysterics his body clamored for as he pocketed the phone and walked to the desk where Price was still working. “Price, Caffrey’s down. I want traffic feeds for the entire borough in two minutes and HRT ready to go in five. Have Cruz and Bennett take Mr. Gless home and stay with him. They don’t let him leave and they don’t let Rice’s team push them out. Have Jones notify local LEOs; I want checkpoints on every land, air and sea exit from this city. Quick and quiet, and right _now_.”

Price’s eyes had gone wide, and as soon as Peter finished speaking, Price was mobilizing the team. Peter watched as his people dropped everything and executed his instructions with alacrity, anxiety thrumming through the bullpen like cicadas on a summer night. _We’re coming, sweetheart… it’ll be okay… I’m coming…_

Refusing to leave, Gless pushed his way to Peter. “What’s happening? Something’s wrong, isn’t there?”

Forcing himself to maintain a calm, firm tone, Peter tried to remember that this wasn’t Gless’ fault. Gless was only a father who was terrified for his daughter. Rice should have known better than to put Neal in danger without full disclosure. “The man who took your daughter has a grudge against Neal. Neal’s guilt over forging your company’s bonds was leverage to secure his involvement in your daughter’s case. Wilkes double-crossed us.”

He watched Gless go pale, frightened eyes widening. “Lindsey?”

“There’s no reason to believe that she isn’t perfectly fine, Mr. Gless,” Peter assured him, knowing it for a lie and praying it didn’t show on his face. “If Wilkes knows Neal half as well as we think, he’ll keep Neal cooperative with whatever he has planned by offering to leave Lindsey unharmed in exchange. You need to go home and wait; Wilkes may try to contact you again. As soon as something changes, you’ll be informed. Now please go with my agents.”

Gless half-turned, then turned back to Peter. “I didn’t know… I never wanted anything like this to happen to Caffrey… what he did-”

Peter raised a hand, cutting him off. “I know, and so does Neal. That’s not important right now. Just go home and don’t leave without a Bureau escort. I promise: we’ll call when we know something.”

Nodding, looking guilty and frightened, Gless turned and went with Lauren and Bennett. Peter stood, watching his team work, until the elevator had closed behind them and the civilian was out of sight.

Long strides carried Peter to the men’s room before he was even aware that he was moving. His vision swam, his skin felt tight, his breath constricted in his chest. And then he was on his knees, hands white-knuckled on porcelain as his stomach contents heaved up into the bowl.

Wilkes had tried to kill Neal once before. It had been years, and Wilkes was a vicious bastard. The sound had been an electroshock weapon of some kind, not a gunshot or a knife slash; they’d merely knocked Neal out. That probably meant Wilkes had something… lingering… planned.

Peter knew the odds of escaping any kind of assault dropped dramatically when the victim was removed from the point of attack to a second location. He knew that there was a strong possibility that Lindsey was already dead, or that Neal would be made to watch whatever befell her, a sadistic pre-show for what awaited him. Wilkes was a violent, dangerous sociopath, and men like him scrupled at little.

Every nightmare scenario that could unfold was painting itself in Peter’s mind, and Peter could only rest against the cool porcelain, the acrid taste in his mouth almost unnoticeable in contrast to the fear carving holes in his heart. He never should have left Neal to Rice’s care, should have fought harder to be included in the case or keep Neal in a purely advisory capacity. He’d left Neal out there alone…

_No… **I** didn’t… I should have tried harder to be involved, but **Rice** left Neal out of the loop. He’d have told me about this if she’d told him what Wilkes wanted. And there’s no way Hughes approved this, not if he knew the whole story. If this was another agent, or even a normal consultant, Rice would never have **dared** pull this kind of stunt…_

Anger brought him slowly to his feet, stretched out his hand to flush away the evidence. Resolve turned him to exit the stall, carried him through the motions of washing his face and hands, rinsing his mouth with warm water as best he could. He had a small overnight kit in his office with a toothbrush and other necessities. He would use them later.

Peter looked in the mirror. His face stared back at him, fury hardening the lines into stone and fire leaping in his eyes. Peter had promised Neal that no matter how long it took, no matter how far the journey, Peter would always be able to find him. Neal had promised Peter that no matter where he went, he would always leave a trail for Peter to follow.

_I’ll find you, sweetheart… just stay alive until I can get there._

Love straightened his spine, and Peter strode from the bathroom. He had work to do.


	3. Part Three

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

Hours passed, and with each second that ticked by Peter’s temper frayed that much more. What Wilkes was doing to Neal or Lindsey or both wouldn’t stop playing out in Peter’s mind, and there was only so much Peter could do without Hughes’ authorization. And he knew damned well that Hughes wouldn’t give him authorization to take over the case unless Rice was there to confess that she’d thrown Neal under a bus.

The fact that it took her more than _nine and a half hours_ to show her face in his bullpen was enough for anyone to understand him losing his composure. Especially if one took into account that he slept for only an hour and twenty minutes somewhere around four AM when his body finally crashed. Everyone still in the office heard Peter’s urgent, formless murmuring as he twitched in restless sleep, then the awkward crash when the nightmare finally grew vivid enough that his body jerked and threw his office chair off balance, spilling him to the floor and dropping him mercilessly back to wakefulness.

When Rice finally did appear, tossing around orders that should’ve been called in within minutes of Neal’s disappearance, there was no restraining the explosion of Peter’s temper.

“You sold him out so you could get your picture in the paper!” Peter charged down the stairs, fury propelling him directly into Rice’s personal space. There was no modulating his voice, no controlling the scene they were going to make. He was dimly aware of the other agents in the bullpen rising from their seats, stopping everything to stare at the confrontation. “You hung Neal out to dry for a gold star on your resume!”

“You better watch it, Burke,” Rice hissed, her own tone venomous.

Her warning only served to incense him further. That she had done this was bad enough: that she was going to try and warn him against anything short of physically removing her from the office with his bare hands was the last affront he could take. “When we found that coat check stub for the club, you already knew what was going down there, didn’t you? But you kept your mouth shut so everything could go according to plan!”

Whatever her answer to his accusation might have been was cut off as Hughes appeared beside them. The presence of his superior was a desperately needed stop-gap; Peter wasn’t sure that he could have kept this from becoming physical, no matter what Rice’s gender, if Hughes hadn’t appeared at his nine o’clock just at that moment. “What’s going on here?” Hughes asked, obviously unprepared for the sight of his lead agent all but physically threatening a colleague.

“She made a backroom deal with Wilkes!” Peter snapped, hands going to his hips in a desperate effort to keep them off Rice now that Hughes was there. “The girl in exchange for Neal.”

“Rice, is that true?” Hughes looked appalled. Peter wished he was in any fit state to enjoy the moment when Hughes realized that Peter’s reservations about keeping him off Rice’s case while handing her Neal on a platter were well-founded.

“A man we believe to be Wilkes contacted Gless,” Rice explained, obviously thinking that Hughes would see her explanation as reasonable. “He said he would _give Lindsey back_ if he could have a face-to-face with Caffrey.”

The fact that she looked at Peter while emphasizing the offer of Lindsey’s return almost overtook what restraint Peter had left. _As if anything could justify what she’s done! As if I or anyone else would believe the ends justify these means!_ “A face-to-face,” Peter sneered. “And you really think Wilkes would make good on that?”

“It was our _one shot_ to get a lead on Wilkes and follow him back to the girl!” Rice shouted in Peter’s face. Peter couldn’t help thinking that her desperation would’ve been more compelling if her actions hadn’t been so monumentally callous, or so unnecessarily unethical. She turned back to Hughes, pleading her case. “I had agents all over that street,” she added reasonably.

Peter couldn’t help the contempt that laced his tone, fed up with her excuses and her gross incompetence. “And how did that work out for you?”

“Did you get any leads on the girl?” Hughes cut in, trying to control the confrontation before even more time was lost.

“Wilkes made the grab in our one operational blind spot,” Rice admitted. There was nothing in her voice that remotely ceded the moral high ground she believed herself to be on.

Hughes couldn’t believe his ears; scrubbing his hand over his face, he decided it was too early in the morning to have any further patience for the visiting agent’s excuses. She’d worn out her welcome. “Then you’re no longer in charge,” he pronounced. “Peter, you’re officially part of the show… and I don’t want to hear it, Rice!” he snapped as Rice opened her mouth to protest. “You report to Burke until you find Caffrey and that girl.”

At any other time, the vindication would’ve made Peter’s day. As it stood, he could only stare balefully at Rice as Hughes went back to his office, a thousand reproaches desperate to snarl from his tongue. She glared right back, obviously incapable of seeing her actions as anything but justified, and Peter suddenly couldn’t look at her another second. Turning his back, he followed the path Hughes had taken, heading for the conference room to get an update on the information his team had been gathering overnight.

“I’m not done with you, Burke!” came an angry snap from behind him. Rice had followed Peter up to the second level, eyes flashing in embarrassed fury. “This is still my case!”

Peter wheeled into his office, signaled Jones and the others into the conference room and closed his door once Rice followed him through. “Which I’m now in charge of, and after the hours you’ve wasted trying to keep such a monumental screw-up under wraps and therefore cover your own ass, I don’t have time to squander locking horns with you or wondering what other vital information you’re keeping quiet to suit your own agenda.

“As soon as you and your team are debriefed, you’re all going to get your asses out of my office. Until further notice, you and your people are sitting on Gless at his home and you are going to report _any_ new information directly to me immediately. And if something’s happened to Neal or Lindsey, I’m not only going to see to it you’re stripped of your badge, but that you’re indicted on any criminal charges I can sell the AUSA on, up to and including reckless endangerment homicide.”

Rice’s temper flared at him. “You wouldn’t dare; there isn’t-”

“I can and I will.” Peter’s eyes snapped cold rage, his gaze level with hers for a long moment. “If Neal was a fellow agent, or even a normal civilian consultant, you’d never have even _considered_ pulling this escapade and we both know it. You treated Neal as less than from the start… ‘a tool in your belt’, I believe you called him. And you did it because he’s a felon and you thought no one would care if he got caught in the crossfire.” Peter looked away from her, no longer able to stand the sight of her. “You thought wrong.”

Standing ramrod straight, anger etching deep white lines at the edges of her face, Rice watched as Peter gathered file folders and other papers from his desk. “And you think that all the ‘atta-boys’ you get for your case closure rate mean that no one notices how over-invested in Caffrey you are,” she fired back stiffly.

Peter paused, his head turning his gaze back to her, a stillness on his face that belied the bare thread of control he retained on his temper.

“You were obsessed with him for years,” Rice continued, her tone acid. “Damn near screwed your career for him then; but the higher-ups were willing to ignore it because you caught the un-catchable thief. But now he’s out and he’s here: being treated like an agent instead of a consultant or CI, given access and inside information that God only knows how he’ll use once that anklet’s off for good, and you’re throwing your career away. Again. And what’s worse is you don’t even seem to know it. Almost twenty years in, and you’re not going anywhere, all because of a felon you can’t seem to see past… one that won’t even bother to look back once he gets the chance to leave or thank you for the chances to advance that you threw away in his name.”

The silence was thunderous in the wake of her speech; the office felt far too small to contain the pair of them. Peter’s voice was low and controlled when he finally spoke, but there was no mistaking the icy anger threading every syllable. “My career is what I want it to be, Rice. Your concern for my welfare is touching, duly noted, and completely irrelevant to the situation.

“But as long as we’re sharing…” Peter’s lips tugged in a mirthless half-smile. “Do you know the worst thing about all this, Rice? It isn’t whether or not Neal’s tanking my career. Isn’t that you’ve destroyed your own career and the careers of any other agent that was in on this mess because you thought Neal wasn’t worth affording the basic protection we’d give to a civilian consultant. Isn’t even that because of the way you’ve played this, right now Neal could be watching Lindsey Gless being tortured to death as a preview of what’s going to be done to him.” He took a small satisfaction at the flinch in her eyes, knowing the barb he’d just slung was nothing compared to what was coming. “The worst part is that _Neal would’ve gone in there anyway_.”

The shock in Rice’s eyes gave Peter a dreadful satisfaction, and he couldn’t help committing the expression to memory, to describe in detail to Neal if… _when_ Neal made it back alive. “If you’d actually told Neal what Wilkes wanted, what the ransom demand was, Neal wouldn’t have hesitated to offer himself up in exchange for the girl. And we could’ve done this the right way, and both Neal and Lindsey would be safe, and you’d be standing in front of a big bank of microphones taking all kinds of credit for the brilliant rescue. Neal’s a better man than you give him credit for: good enough that he might even forgive you for what you’ve done if he lives through this.” A file drawer snapped shut; Rice jumped at the sudden bang. “I won’t.”

Without another word, Peter tucked the files under his arm and walked past Rice out of his office and into the conference room. He had far too much to do to be distracted any longer.

* * *

If time had crawled overnight, it felt even slower now. The information Rice and her team had brought in with them wasn’t enough to overcome the time they’d lost: hours of “investigation” that had been largely for show while Rice ran out the clock until the meeting she’d pre-arranged with Wilkes before ever even laying eyes on Neal, and even more on trying to keep that deal and Wilkes’ oh-so-predictable double-cross a secret.

The agents under his direction worked tirelessly, although Peter could see the toll that it was taking on those that had stayed since the night before. He felt it himself. But Neal was out there alone, and every time Peter closed his eyes for more than a second, he saw blue eyes in pain, or glassy and blank, and knew sleep would not come again until this was over.

Hughes wanted updates from him every half hour until Lindsey was found, and Peter felt the familiar churn of nausea every time he had to tell his superior that there was nothing new to report.

It was nearly time for another such non-update when Price alerted him; he glanced up from the conference room table to see a decidedly-unwelcome redhead cresting the top of the stairs with a jewel case in her hand. Rather than wasting time waiting for her to ask, Peter decided to bring her up to speed in the most civil tone he could muster. “I’ve got B.O.L.O.s out on your van description. N.Y.P.D.’s canvassing the area where Neal was taken.”

“We just found this in Gless’ mail.” Rice held up the jewel case, which Peter moved to snatch from her hands before any of the other agents in the room could react. She backed away from him even as she held it out, but all Peter could focus on was getting the case open and putting what was obviously a proof-of-life DVD into the player. “It was sent before Caffrey was taken.”

_If it was mailed, that’s blatantly obvious,_ Peter couldn’t help thinking acidly. He didn’t bother to voice his irritation, though, desperate for any leads the video disc would offer that could lead him to Neal.

The video queued up and began to play: Lindsey Gless holding a copy of the prior day’s **_New York Times_** , sitting against a brick wall with a flood light beside her. Water leaked in steady rivulets from an unseen source, making the bricks shine. The girl herself was pale and obviously nervous, glancing at someone off camera as she repeated the message to her father that she’d been instructed to give.

The message itself was vague, practically canned; it could easily have been lifted from the script of any movie involving a kidnapping like this. Peter knew in an instant that it would be of no value. Instead of worrying about the meaningless words or the newspaper that was so ubiquitous as to be useless for anything other than a low-tech date stamp, he queued the video to start over again. “All right, everybody: watch it again. Anything jumps out at you? Call it.”

After a moment’s examination, Jones was the first to comment. “Place is falling where it stands,” he observed. “Cracks along the wall, funky windows…”

“Pre-Civil War construction,” Peter guessed. He was so tired now, he couldn’t even identify where his mind pulled that connection from.

A horn sounded on the audio behind Lindsey’s voice. “You hear that?” Rice asked, calling attention to it.

“Foghorn,” Peter guessed, then corrected himself. “No: tugboat horn.” He turned to Jones and Price, ignoring Rice even though she’d been the one to pick out what could be an important piece of information. “Let’s get it isolated; we know she’s by the water.”

“There are over 500 miles of waterfront in the New York area,” Rice pointed out as the agents in the room mobilized.

The reminder that the information they had to work from was so impossibly broad that it was like using a stick figure as a composite sketch did not help Peter’s composure. He turned his back on Rice, facing the agents he knew he could trust… agents he knew actually gave a damn about both Neal and the girl on the video behind them. “I want search teams on the ground **now** : everybody sweeping and canvassing _any_ waterfront structure with cracked walls or funky windows.”

His agents filed out, leaving Peter alone in the conference room with the looped DVD. Dimly, he heard Lindsey Gless’ voice in the background, but in Peter’s exhausted mind, the words were coming from Neal himself.

_“Now… or I won’t be okay. I love you.”_

_I’m coming, sweetheart. I swear to God, I’m coming._

His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet step behind him. “You’ve been up with this all night, boss,” Lauren offered quietly.

“So has half the team,” Peter replied, his tone brusque as he started to glance through the files on the table again. Lindsey’s voice kept playing in the background, and suddenly Peter couldn’t stand it anymore. He spun on his heels and stopped the playback with the remote, then ejected the disc from the player. Putting it back in the case it came in, he handed it to Lauren. “Take this to T.A.R.U. and have them pull any good stills they can, then make sure the search teams have copies for reference. The damage we can see in the background might or might not be visible from outside the building, but the windows will. And make sure they know to isolate that tugboat horn and any other unique sounds that might be picked up once they filter out Lindsey’s voice.”

“You got it.” Lauren took the DVD, then lingered for just a moment. “Caffrey’ll be all right, boss. He’s gotten out of tighter spots than this.”

“This isn’t just about Neal,” Peter reminded her, trying to keep from lashing out at her banal attempt at reassurance. “Make sure T.A.R.U. knows it’s a priority one.”

Lauren nodded and headed out. Peter’s eyes narrowed when he saw that Rice was waiting outside. “You’re still here.”

Rice’s expression was set, but her eyes were conflicted as she stepped back in the room. “You need me here,” she asserted, her tone not the least bit conciliatory. “My team has Gless and his house under control; it’s a waste of time and resources to make me stand in a corner for the rest of the case.”

“I can’t work with people I don’t trust, Agent Rice,” Peter reminded her, letting anger seep back into his tone. “And there’s nothing you can say or do that will earn my trust soon enough to make any difference to Lindsey or Neal.”

“My team didn’t know the op last night wasn’t sanctioned.” The words came out in a rush, surprising Peter into a moment of stillness. “They knew I’d been talking with Hughes privately about the case and assumed I’d cleared everything with him… and that Caffrey had been read in about being the ransom demand.”

“That’s not going to cut much ice with OPR or the disciplinary board.”

“I know, which is why I’m here.” Rice took a breath, obviously screwing herself up for something she found unpleasant. “Put in a good word for the rest of my team with the disciplinary board, and I’ll work with you to get Caffrey and Lindsey back without any more wrangling over who’s in charge. You and your team will get full credit for Lindsey’s recovery.”

Peter’s lip curled in a snarl. “You still don’t get it, do you, Rice? This isn’t about credit; this is about a girl’s life, and now Neal’s in the bargain. Maybe you’ve forgotten, but this job is about keeping people safe and bringing criminals to justice, not how many awards for meritorious conduct you can rack up before you retire!”

He could see the retort hovering on her lips, watched her swallow it back. “Right now, what it’s about is making sure that my team doesn’t go down for a decision I made,” she offered. It barely qualified as a concession, but Peter knew it was likely the closest he could get out of her. “You all but run this department; you understand what I’m talking about.”

Much as Peter didn’t want to admit it, he did know. She was trying to take responsibility for her team the way she should have for Neal, trying to minimize the fallout that was going to haunt agents who might have made a different decision in her place. He didn’t respect her and probably never would, but he could at least respect the sentiment.

“All right,” he conceded grudgingly. “You can stay and help. In exchange for your complete cooperation and transparent disclosure for the rest of the case, I’ll write up a statement for the disciplinary board asking for consideration for the rest of the agents on your team… _provided_ they really didn’t know until after the fact that you hadn’t told Neal or Hughes the truth. If any of them were in on it and didn’t try to stop you, my recommendation to be board with be very different. Do we understand each other?”

Rice nodded, looking marginally relieved. “Completely.”

“Good: now go make yourself useful. Get the listings for any properties on the waterfront built before 1870 and cross-check the owners’ names against any known aliases for Wilkes and his crew.” Peter sighed and sank down into a chair, idly picking up a page from the file and staring at information he’d practically memorized by now. “Maybe we get lucky.”

She left without a word. Peter stayed a moment longer, burying his face in his hands and wishing for a real break in the case. A phone call from Neal. From Wilkes. A hit on the B.O.L.O. or a CC-TV feed that caught the license plate of the van Neal had been abducted in.

_I just need a high sign… a place to start… we’re tearing apart the entire hayfield and we don’t even know whether we’re looking for a needle or a hatpin… come on, sweetheart… you know I’m out here looking. Give me something to work from… anything at all…_

It took a few moments, but Peter finally got his breathing under control. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to suppress the tears of exhaustion and helplessness that threatened at the corners, then pushed himself to his feet and went to brief Hughes on the new development.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time gap described at the beginning of this chapter is based on two things: the time on the wall clock behind Peter when he was talking to Stuart Gless just before Neal was taken (9:05 PM EST) and the fact that the F.B.I. office’s external windows in the scene where Rice finally gets there to start mobilizing the unit to find Neal showed dim daylight outside. Judging by the approximate amount of in-universe time that passed since **_Vital Signs_** (ep 1x10), I guesstimated that this episode is set around mid-September, which would’ve put sunrise at approximately 6:30 AM EST.
> 
> Also, Peter isn’t just posturing in this chapter. IRL, Rice’s actions are a violation of professional responsibility and ethical conduct. I double-checked with someone who has firsthand knowledge of the Bureau: she and any agent found to be knowingly complicit with her actions would be subject to immediate termination of employment and indictment on criminal charges, regardless of the case’s outcome.


	4. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a little jump back in time at the beginning of this chapter to the moment Neal gets tased and retells that moment from his perspective. I have never been shocked with a stun weapon and have tried to describe it based upon actual accounts. My apologies for any inaccuracies or if this might be triggering to anyone for any reason.

  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)  
  


~oooOOOooo~

_“Neal, you’re the ransom.”_

The borderline panic in Peter’s voice barely registered before there was a charged hum in Neal’s free ear.

Every nerve in Neal’s body seemed to light up at once; a cry of pain left his throat as his muscles seized and he crumpled to the ground, his phone dropping from suddenly-nerveless fingers. He could hear Peter shouting for him over the still-open line, wanted to call back out to him, but he couldn’t make his mouth work to form the words.

A moment later, the heel of his assailant’s boot came down on the Blackberry, smashing it to scrap. Neal’s entire body felt heavy as wet wool, unresponsive as the man that had just stunned him reached down and roughly hauled him up into a fireman’s hold, then dragged him inside a nearby building and slung him into an uncaring heap on the floor.

Neal tried to make out the words being exchanged above him, but his ears were still ringing from the shock and whomever they were spoke in low, clipped tones. And then he was being manhandled onto his stomach, bound at the wrists with a zip tie and blindfolded. The implications of these precautions weren’t lost on Neal even as he felt a telltale jab in his calf, and the lethargy caused by being stunned was slowly replaced by an even more insidious lassitude.

_I’m sorry, Peter._

* * *

By the time awareness stole its way back across Neal’s senses, he had no idea how much time had passed. The zip tie was gone, though the hood was still in place. A quick mental assessment told him that he hadn’t been physically or sexually assaulted after being sedated, and that he was in a moving vehicle of some kind: a stripped down van, given that he was seated on a metal floor against a bulkhead, and there were no seats of any kind restricting the splay of his limbs.

Light stabbed at his corneas as the blindfold was yanked away, and Neal groaned in pain even as he squinted while his pupils adjusted to the drastic change. Hours had obviously passed, if not another full day and night. The F.B.I. wouldn’t be hauling him around blindfolded, which meant that he wasn’t in the company of anyone he could trust and his life was probably in a great deal of danger. He had no phone, no weapons, no tracking anklet or other G.P.S. device and no idea of even where he was.

Well and so: he’d done more with less.

“Top of the morning to you. Monster headache, right?” The voice coming from above him was a study of mock concern. “It’ll pass.”

Neal’s vision cleared and focused on the man hovering over him, even as adrenaline spiked in his veins. “Wilkes.”

“Seeing you again, Neal,” Wilkes purred as he bent down to Neal’s level, “it brings back all these old feelings.”

The blow came fast, driving the breath from Neal’s lungs. Neal doubled over from the force of it, grateful that Wilkes had gone for his stomach rather than a more vulnerable target, then uncurled to lean against the wall of the van once he’d recovered his breath. “If you wanted to meet for lattes, you could’ve just called,” he rasped out, refusing to appear intimidated.

“This way’s better.” The glint in Wilkes’ eyes made Neal want to roll away, to put distance between them. But that was impossible in an enclosed mobile space, and Neal pushed the impulse down. “Pretty good, right? Have the fed snip your anklet off for me? She handed you over on a platter.”

If it had been anyone but Rice, Neal might’ve thought it was a ploy to sow mistrust in his F.B.I. handlers, to make him feel as though he had nowhere to turn for help. But Neal had no trouble believing the boast. He also knew that Rice would never have managed it if Peter had been involved, and that by now, Peter was likely devoting every ounce of his energy and considerable talents to bring Neal home.

If no one else, Neal could count on Peter’s loyalty. He was still wearing the ring that proved in on a chain beneath his clothes.

“That’s great.” Neal’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “You’re a lock for kidnapper of the year.”

Wilkes gave an amused hum. “That ol’ Caffrey wit. I love it!” His expression shifted slightly; Neal braced for whatever was coming next. “We could’ve been something: thunder and lightning. But then you had to go and rip me off for… what, five hundred grand?”

“I’ll write you a check.”

The quip didn’t help, and Wilkes bent closer to Neal’s prone body, as if they were speaking in confidence. “Normally, I kill people for that sort of thing.”

Neal could hear the ‘but’ at the end of the sentence; knew in that instant that Wilkes wanted something from him. That the double-cross hadn’t just been a way to lure Neal in for some gruesome revenge scheme Wilkes had decided to carry out. “But?” he prompted.

“But today is your lucky day,” Wilkes replied. “You get to make it up to me.”

It was a chance. Somehow, he could get a signal to someone who could set Peter on his trail. The odds that he would get out of this alive were slim, but Neal Caffrey was used to living on the edge of razor high wires. Still, he wasn’t the only one at risk here, and Neal had to try. “Look, man: what about Lindsey? You got me; just let her go.”

“Not yet,” Wilkes replied simply. Wilkes’ turning down Neal’s offer wasn’t unexpected, but the van stopping as he said it was. “I’m gonna open these doors,” he informed Neal, all business now. “You run or yell? I’ll shoot you, and then I’ll shoot the girl.”

 _Smart, sadistic sonuvabitch,_ Neal couldn’t help thinking. His reputation for disliking violence was being used against him here and he knew it. Lindsey hadn’t just been taken as bait to lure him into Wilkes’ trap. She was also the carrot to be dangled at the end of the stick.

A stick Wilkes likely intended to beat them both to death with once he had whatever he wanted Neal to get for him.

Wilkes glanced over his shoulder, signaled the thug that had been riding silently in the corner to open the doors, then looked back to Neal. “Let’s get started.”

_Yeah… let’s get started._

* * *

Certain talents required for confidence artistry were instinctive to Neal; others, he had honed from long years practicing his craft and colluding with Mozzie. He was better at cold reads than almost anyone else in the life, and his assessments of where his marks were vulnerable and what he needed to do to gain their trust were seldom even mildly inaccurate. He was fast on his feet, able to concoct intricate schemes on the fly that he then actually pulled off in shockingly little time: plans that rarely ever called for brute force or aggressive tactics. Neal was one of the best, and everyone in the life knew it.

But Neal also had a temper: a temper that went off like a cannon when Wilkes threatened to kill two innocent women and orphan a pair of children in the amount of time it took most people to order coffee.

It was a risk: using the travel agency’s rewards program as a distress signal, especially since he couldn’t be sure that Mozzie wouldn’t just come himself instead of showing it to Peter. But he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ risk sending it to anyone on the F.B.I. team, or even to Elizabeth. Mozzie’s phones were always untraceable burners that he changed unpredictably and only ever kept Neal abreast of. Going through Mozzie was only way to guarantee that Wilkes wouldn’t know about the message.

When Neal came back across the street to Wilkes, having obtained the information Wilkes had wanted from the travel agency, he was done being cowed by the man’s brutal threats. It was time to start manipulating Wilkes back, to give Mozzie (and hopefully Peter) time to follow his trail. He handed Wilkes the information, the quick con having given him more than enough time to gather himself and his resolve for the next move.

“That’s my boy!” Wilkes praised as he took the page from Neal. “Kathy’s children thank you. You ready for round two?”

“I don’t think I’m up for round two,” Neal replied coolly.

“That’d be an ill-advised life choice.”

Wilkes’ calm delivery, as though he were really offering friendly advice, confirmed everything Neal needed to know. Wilkes was dispensing death threats far too liberally to actually be disposed to follow through with them at this stage. He needed Neal for something else, which gave Neal leverage. Not much, but enough. “Why?” Neal challenged, disbelief evident in his tone. “You’ll kill me?”

“Don’t test me, Neal,” Wilkes warned.

It was a sign of weakness. _Whatever he wants, he wants it bad… and he can’t afford to not have me involved for some reason._ Neal seized on it and called Wilkes’ bluff. “Tell your friend Jim to put that red dot on my head and pull the trigger, if you don’t think I’m serious.”

“It’s like I’m talking Mandarin!” Wilkes was frustrated now; Neal knew Wilkes liked being feared, and his distinct lack thereof was getting to the man. “How about I kick things off by killing my sweet little hostage?”

Just as Neal had predicted, Wilkes had defaulted to the next threat he’d imagined would cow Neal into submission. Instead, it gave Neal the opening he’d been waiting for. He stepped closer into Wilkes’ space, his teeth clenching in suppressed anger. “I’m startin’ to wonder if you even _have_ Lindsey.”

He watched the calculations behind Wilkes’ eyes: watched as his opponent played out all of the possible scenarios and their likelihood of getting him whatever he was after. Neal pitied him a little, that it had taken Wilkes so long to get to where Neal had been within moments of stepping out of the travel agency.

Altruistic hubris wasn’t the reason that Neal always said resorting to violence equaled a lack of imagination.

A moment of silent consideration passed, and then Wilkes signaled to his sniper to stand down. Neal watched the man comply before turning his attention back to Wilkes. “Why don’t we take a break,” Wilkes suggested, as if they were negotiating. “Let you think about this? Last thing I want you to do is… drag your heels.”

The van pulled up beside them; Neal knew in an instant that he was about to be taken to wherever Wilkes was keeping Lindsey. Wilkes wanted him compliant, which Neal had banked on as a way to get proof of Lindsey’s life. With any luck, it would also mean he could mentally track the van’s route from the travel agency to Wilkes’ hideout: information that he could then communicate to Mozzie or Peter or whomever finally showed up when his distress call was decoded.

He got into the van at Wilkes’ tersely polite invitation, only to be shoved to the floor as Wilkes followed him inside. It was probably pressing his luck, but Wilkes was irritated, maybe even to the point of being distracted enough to answer… “Where we going?”

“You talk too much,” Wilkes snapped. He wasn’t even looking at Neal; Neal knew in a heartbeat that asking their destination had been the wrong play. “Tase this man again.”

Panic gripped him, and protest that it wasn’t necessary only half escaping before Wilkes’ unnamed thug did as he was ordered. Neal silently cursed himself as he slumped to the floor of the van, wishing he’d held his tongue. The wake of the shock would be several minutes long, and the lethargy meant that he couldn’t catalogue and time the movements of the van properly. By the time he’d be able to, they would be too far along the trail for him to make an accurate map in his mind. There would be no telling a rescue party where to find Lindsey even if they did catch up with him.

He’d marked the beginning of the trail, gotten the message to someone he trusted, and bought them all some time. It would have to do for now.

Neal just hoped it was enough.

* * *

Lindsey was all right. Frightened, with a few bruises here and there from her initial kidnapping, but otherwise she hadn’t been harmed. Neal was absurdly grateful in that moment that Wilkes ruled his crew with an iron fist. He didn’t want any mistakes made that would cost him his leverage over Neal, and that was preventing Lindsey’s guards from deciding that they could have a little fun with her while Wilkes was out in the field.

They were largely left alone while Wilkes attended to other matters, save for the portly guard sitting nearby. After a few whispered reassurances, which he wasn’t sure Lindsey fully believed but that Neal needed to hear just as much as she did, Neal sat with her quietly, praying that Mozzie had gotten his message to Peter.

He needed Peter to find him before Wilkes’ plan came to a head, to be there to catch him if he fell while playing Wilkes’ game through to the end. He couldn’t afford to do anything that might tempt Wilkes to do more than make threats against Lindsey. Not when he’d now seen the proof that Wilkes had never had any intention of allowing Lindsey to live.

It was exactly the conclusion that Wilkes wanted Neal to draw and Neal knew it. There were times when the ruthless types just outplayed people like Neal, whose scruples wouldn’t allow them to cross certain lines. Wilkes had no scruples, and there were no lines he wouldn’t cross.

So when Wilkes came back and asked Neal whether or not he was prepared to play Round Two, Neal knew he had no choice but to agree, and to keep praying for Peter to find him in time.

* * *

Peter was staring at aerial photographs of the New York waterfront when his cell rang. The entire team was combing through property records, trying to isolate antebellum properties that were abandoned or owned by aliases associated with Wilkes. The day was wearing on, and Peter felt the crawl of every second like sandpaper against his skin.

Stepping away from the plasma for a moment, he saw Elizabeth on the caller ID just before he picked up and winced internally. He hadn’t told her about Neal being taken yet. She knew they were working a kidnapping case, and that it wasn’t unusual for agents to work around the clock during the initial 48 hours that were so critical to the victim’s chances of being recovered alive. But he knew himself well enough to know that if he talked to her, he would tell her that Neal had been taken as well, and he’d wanted to spare her the worry that was tearing him apart inside.

There was no help for it now. “Hey, hon.”

_“Okay: you need to come home. We have a visitor.”_

At any other time, trying to go home in the middle of a case was difficult to manage no matter how urgently his beloved wife needed him. In this moment, it was unthinkable. “Ohhh… I’m sorry, sweetie, but I’m right in the middle of something right now.” He hoped the fact that he often couldn’t talk about the details of ongoing cases would let him wave her off. If she asked for specifics…

_“Right… well, I think your **something** is connected to the **someone** who showed up at our front door.”_

“What?” Wild hope sprang in Peter’s heart before he could contain it. If Neal was running from Wilkes, he wasn’t likely to hide at Peter’s home and therefore put El in danger. But oh, how he wanted, just for a moment… “Who’s there?”

_“Mozzie… and he’s pretty worked up.”_

The unrealistic spark in Peter’s chest snuffed out, but he otherwise buried his disappointment. He needed to stay focused and he needed to convince El that he didn’t have time to indulge Neal’s odd partner-in-crime while Neal was still in danger without telling her that Neal was in danger if he could at all help it. “That’s his normal state.”

_“I think it’s important.”_

“If it’s that important,” Peter snapped, “tell him to come to the office.” He didn’t have time for the strange little man’s paranoia-driven antics just now. The only thing that would possibly be more important to Peter than finding Neal and Lindsey was if Elizabeth went missing as well.

 _“Mozzie in the F.B.I. headquarters?”_ The incredulity of her tone was matched by a derisive laugh in the background: likely from Mozzie himself overhearing her comment. _“Yeah, he’s not going.”_

“Honey, I don’t have time-”

_“It’s about Neal.”_

The somber tone in her voice stopped Peter mid-protest. If Mozzie was at his house… was reaching out to him without risking being seen at the F.B.I. offices… was it possible that one of their underworld connections had heard something about Wilkes and Neal? Had Mozzie heard something that he felt Peter should know? Or even gotten some kind of message from Neal himself that Neal had charged him to pass along?

Hope flared again, bright and hot, and Peter all but ran from the conference room. Pausing briefly to let Jones know that he was personally meeting with an informant that possibly had a lead on Lindsey’s whereabouts, he sped down to his car, pulled out his emergency red flasher, and cut through traffic like a knife to get down to Brooklyn.

When he walked into his house and called out to El, he found them seated at opposite ends of the dining table over tea. “You know, Mozzie still won’t tell me what he does for a living,” El remarked calmly. “Do you know?”

“I know enough not to ask.” Peter felt winded, as if he’d run from Manhattan to Brooklyn instead of driving, and his nerves weren’t up for the patter that his wife and Mozzie had somehow developed in the short time they’d known one another. “Why are you here?” he asked the little man bluntly.

Mozzie slid a Blackberry across the table in response. “I received this.”

Picking it up, Peter pressed a button to light up the screen. It opened to an advertisement from a travel agency. “Elite Voyages? Come frolic with us?”

“Look at the e-mail address,” Mozzie instructed, not needing Peter to ask the question.

His eyes flickered to the top of the e-mail, and Peter immediately understood. “Dante Haversham,” he confirmed quietly.

“Remember the alias I gave when Neal introduced us?” Mozzie reminded them, though Peter suspected it was more for Elizabeth’s benefit than his own. “See? Sometimes things _do_ have secret meanings.”

“I believe you on this one.” Elizabeth looked up at her husband, seeing for the first time that he was drawn, exhaustion hovering at the edges of his face and fear lurking in the corners of his eyes. Something was very, very wrong and he’d kept it a secret from her. “Is Neal okay?”

Peter didn’t want to look at her. He busied himself by pulling out his own phone to call Jones with the information, studying the e-mail Mozzie had brought them. Neal had promised to mark the trail if he needed to leave, and that’s exactly what this was.

“I don’t know,” Mozzie replied when Peter remained silent. “That’s a distress signal.”

“Peter, what is going on?” Elizabeth demanded.

“I’ll explain in a minute.” He kept his eyes on Mozzie as Jones picked up, measuring the smaller man’s devotion to Neal and ability to be trusted. “Jones, we’ve got a lead. Get a team down to a travel agency called ‘Elite Voyages’ and have them canvas with Neal and Wilkes’ photos. Neal may have gotten us an S.O.S. I’ll text you the address and meet you back at the office.” Barely waiting for Jones to agree, Peter hung up and focused on Mozzie. “He got word to you.”

“He knows Wilkes wouldn’t be watching me, or at least that Wilkes wouldn’t see me as a threat.” Mozzie stood up, taking Peter’s measure as well. The man hadn’t slept, and no matter how little Mozzie trusted anyone with a badge, he knew Neal was attached to this man in a way Mozzie couldn’t quite find the shape of yet. It was obvious in this moment that the attachment was mutual. “I’ll get into it; help him any way I can.”

“Keep me informed of _anything_ you find out,” Peter stressed. “The girl’s life is still in danger, too.”

Mozzie nodded silently, then turned to Elizabeth. “Mrs. Suit.”

“Lovely to see you again, Mozzie.” Her tone was light, but Elizabeth knew something dangerous was in play. She waited until Mozzie disappeared out the front door, then turned the weight of her stare on her husband. “Peter Burke, you will tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

Peter’s heart lurched as he finally turned to look at her. Tears welled up in his eyes as he did so, as the façade he’d maintained all night in front of his team began to crack. He was alone with the only other person in the world he loved as much as Neal, and there was no one else to see. “Rice got a ransom demand that she didn’t tell anyone about,” Peter confessed, his voice catching hoarsely on the words. “The kidnapper was someone Neal double-crossed back before prison, and he wanted her to set up a meeting with Neal at an underground club he owned in exchange for Lindsey Gless’ release.”

Fear knotted in Elizabeth’s stomach; it was easy to guess the rest. “He double-crossed you,” she breathed. Peter’s eyes were glistening, spilling over, and her hands went involuntarily to her mouth at his silent confirmation. “Neal was off anklet and the kidnapper took him.”

“He’s had Neal since about nine last night,” Peter confessed. “Rice didn’t even come in until dawn; she spent all night trying to cover her tracks instead of giving us the intel we needed to find him…” Peter closed his eyes, hating the image of a beaten and bloody Neal that painted itself in his mind whenever he did so. “We’ve lost so much time, El…”

“You’ll find him.” Elizabeth forced a conviction she hadn’t known she possessed into her voice as she stood up into Peter’s space, placing her hands on his chest. His eyes opened and he looked down at her, and she lifted them to gently cup his tear-stained face. “You’re the best agent I know, and you love him. If it was me, nothing would stop you until you found me, and I know you’ll do the same for Neal.”

His eyes widened, and Elizabeth held his gaze. She was all steadfastness and calm resolve, her confidence in him unshakeable. It was reassurance he badly needed just now.

“You’ll find him,” she repeated, and leaned up to seal the promise with a gentle kiss.

Peter managed a watery smile, pulling himself back together. “I gotta-”

“Go,” El finished for him, a trace of command in her tone. “Go bring him home.”

Peter kissed her again, and went.


	5. Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who has taken the time to express their support and enthusiasm for my continuation of this 'verse and this story. I am not the best at responding to comments, but every single one is cherished. Thank you all so much!

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

By the time Peter made it back to the office from Brooklyn, his team had had more than enough time to gather the information Neal had wanted them to find and have it waiting for him. “Any luck on the tip?”

“Three hours ago, Caffrey goes into Elite Voyages asking for the itinerary of a ‘Thomas Loze’,” Rice answered immediately, moving to intercept Peter before he could address anyone else on the team.

Peter set aside his annoyance with her and the fact that she had clearly taken point in his absence. Neal and Lindsey were more important. “Do we know him?”

“Pulled a file from Interpol.” She withdrew a photograph from the file in her hands and passed it to him. “Turns out that Loze happens to be a favorite alias of Edward Reilly.”

Peter’s heart sank. Neal wasn’t just dealing with one violent sociopath anymore, and he was out there alone… “Edward Reilly,” he repeated to himself. “The hits keep coming.” Glancing up, he could see that the question in Rice’s voice stemmed from a lack of familiarity with the man’s reputation. It was to be expected, after all: Reilly’s criminal specialty wasn’t K&Rs. “He’s the go-to guy when VIP criminals want something valuable moved: hand-delivers everything himself, which is all the guarantee anyone needs.” He dropped the photo onto the table, frustration mounting. “He’s dangerous.

“My guess?” He looked back up at Rice, wishing that they could’ve pulled this information together hours ago. Wishing that they hadn’t needed this information at all. “Wilkes is snooping around Reilly’s itinerary because he’s planning a surprise for him.” _A surprise that probably involves Neal being Wilkes’ front man again, which puts Neal in the crosshairs of a **very** dangerous man._

“Wilkes is planning a rip-off,” Rice concluded, following his logic.

“Yeah, and he’s using Neal as the face of his whole show.” Peter couldn’t help the trace of contempt that snuck into his voice. Neal would never have been in this position if it hadn’t been for her.

Rice glanced at the copy of the itinerary that they’d gotten from the travel agency. “Reilly’s on an inbound flight from Sydney; he touches down in an hour.”

“And we’ll be there to meet him.” Peter turned, walking out of the conference room to gather his team and call the spread for covering the airport. They needed to get there before the plane landed. They needed to get there before Neal got drawn any deeper into this mess than he’d already been.

_I’m coming for you, sweetheart. Just hold out a little while longer. I’m coming._

* * *

Neal strode through the airport, certain that he was being watched but unable to tell by how many. His jacket concealed the quality of his other clothes well enough, but he felt like a sore thumb and couldn’t shake the sensation that there were eyes on him that could see right through his thin disguise. The gun in his pocket felt unaccountably heavy for all that it lacked ammunition, and panic was starting to creep in at the edges, making it impossible to focus on finding any avenue out of this mess that wouldn’t result in the murder of an innocent girl.

“Do you happen to know where I can catch a shuttle to the city?”

Neal’s gait and heart stuttered in the same moment at the sudden grace of rough velvet in his ear. He turned, still moving, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from flinging headlong into the safety of Peter’s arms. It was _Peter_ that had been watching him. Probably other agents, too. The cavalry had finally arrived. “No need for the cloak and dagger, Peter; Wilkes isn’t here.”

“We’re here to help you get out of this mess, Caffrey.”

His euphoria at seeing Peter’s beloved face was muted somewhat by Rice’s presence in the nearby doorway, and Neal noted from the corner of his eye with some satisfaction that Peter liked her being there no more than he did. “That’s kind of ironic coming from you, Agent Rice.”

They never stopped moving. Peter walked almost in step with Neal while Rice fell in at his six, both men wishing that there had been any way to leave her behind. Still, there was no help for it, and Neal needed to know what they knew. “Listen… this Loze guy you’re going after? It’s Edward Reilly.”

The name brought Neal up short, though he couldn’t afford to stop moving; time was rapidly running out. “Damn,” Neal muttered, again wishing that they weren’t in public so that he could seek the safety of Peter’s arms. “No wonder Wilkes doesn’t wanna be anywhere near this.”

Neal wasn’t stopping. It had been a long day and a longer night and Neal was walking right into the lion’s mouth even though he knew better than any of them who Edward Reilly was. Peter strode past Neal and got into his path, forcing him to stop for a moment. “You go through with this, and Reilly will hunt you down.”

“If I don’t get his briefcase to Wilkes by four, he’ll kill Lindsey.” Neal could see the strain on Peter’s face now that they had a moment’s pause, knew that Peter was afraid for him and wanted to take him out of the equation. But they didn’t know what he knew, didn’t know why it was impossible for him to just walk off the board now. He needed Peter to understand.

“You sure about that?” Peter asked softly.

It wasn’t skepticism in Peter’s voice, like it would’ve been in anyone else’s. It wasn’t doubt in Neal’s ability to observe his opponent. Merely a request for evidence, for assurance that Neal had gotten confirmation instead of acting on suppositions drawn from interactions that had occurred over half a decade ago. “Her guard wasn’t wearing a mask,” Neal confirmed, watching the impact of that statement in Peter’s eyes. “And he has a silencer.”

“So you saw her.” It wasn’t a question; Peter had no doubt that Neal had somehow gotten Wilkes to take him to where Lindsey was being held. Neal wasn’t the kind to respond to empty threats for long.

Peter was absurdly proud of him just then.

Rice wasn’t sure exactly how or why, but watching Neal and Peter interact left her with the strong impression that they’d managed to forget that they weren’t alone together. When Neal’s soft ‘yeah’ confirmed that he’d seen Lindsey, and therefore where she was being held, Rice jumped into the conversation before Peter could follow up. “Where?”

“I don’t know,” Neal replied acidly to her peremptory tone. Her voice had shattered the comforting illusion that everything around he and Peter had dropped away, and was a sharp reminder of everything that had happened to him because of her betrayal. “They _tased_ me.” When she looked away, obviously chastened, he turned back to Peter and tried to ignore the flare of protective anger in those russet eyes that made him want to burrow into Peter and never come back out. “Please tell me you’re close to finding her.”

“We know she’s in an old building near the water,” Peter replied.

It was thin. Too thin. Neal’s mind flashed though pictures of the place where he and Lindsey had been held together, trying to come up with any details that would help. He’d been blindfolded before being hauled inside and back out again, and there hadn’t been anything unique about the inside of the building itself: no insignias or storage containers with an emblem, no signs or posters bearing a business name…

But there had been on the guard’s lunch. Neal felt his eyes widen in realization. “Her guard was eating moo shu pork from a restaurant called ‘Wok of Fire’.”

“Chinese take-out near the water,” Rice repeated.

It was an over-generalization, but Peter knew better. They could easily track down the restaurant by name, and their delivery radius would give them a much more manageable search grid. “We can work with that,” Peter confirmed. He stepped past Neal to head for the exit, pulling Neal with him. “Come on.”

Neal balked. Much as he wanted Peter just now, he couldn’t leave anything to chance. He had to give the F.B.I. as much time as possible to find Lindsey, and Wilkes couldn’t have any reason to order her death before the four o’clock deadline. “Hey, I’m staying here.” He saw the concern on Peter’s face when his lover spun around to face him, but Neal knew that Peter would understand without needing to be told. “If you don’t get to Lindsey first…”

Peter didn’t like it. Everything in him rebelled against it. But he couldn’t argue with Neal, because he knew exactly how razor thin the odds they were playing still were. “Yeah,” was his only reply, wishing not for the first time that Rice wasn’t here. They couldn’t speak freely with her on his elbow. He dug into his pocket and handed Neal an earbud. “It’s a two-way transceiver; Jones will keep an eye on you. His team will stay out of sight.”

He watched Neal put the earbud in, saw him noticing Jones in the arcade just within their peripheral vision. There was far too much crowding onto his tongue that he couldn’t say out in the open, far too much he wanted to do that they were too exposed to act on. “Don’t do anything stupid,” was all Peter could manage, knowing that Neal would be able to read everything else he wished he could say in the warning.

Neal chuffed a deprecating laugh. If he was going to avoid doing anything stupid, he’d be going with Peter right now. He’d be letting Peter protect him and trusting him to find Lindsey in time and staying well away from Edward Reilly. But he couldn’t, and they both knew it. “Too late,” he joked, his heart in his throat as Peter turned and walked away, taking safety with him.

* * *

The ache of wanting to kiss Peter was still heavy in his mouth as Neal turned back onto the path towards the gate where the flight from Sydney would be disembarking. He was alone again, for all that he now had Jones and other agents he trusted for back-up if things went truly pear-shaped. There was still no way he could think of to avoid a confrontation with a man well-known for brutality.

He paused to pick up a scarf a flight attendant had dropped, and the sweet smile she gave him in thanks was a welcome flash of sunlight. But as Neal turned back towards his destination, it was a distinctly sardonic masculine voice that gave him actual reason to smile.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” Mozzie observed, having appeared from nowhere to stand in front of an ad stanchion. “As a friend, I insist you pull the rip cord.”

“You got my message.” For the second time that day, Neal wanted to jump for joy and suppressed it into a mirthful tone of voice. He’d predicted that Mozzie would come to his aid once Mozzie figured out where to find him, but he hadn’t counted on his friend finding him in time once Wilkes had imposed the deadline. Between the two of them, they could find a way out of this mess without winding up on the receiving end of an Edward Reilly vendetta.

Mozzie looked him over, taking in the mismatched clothing and the distinct hat Neal was carrying. “What’s with the driver’s outfit?”

Neal couldn’t believe he was about to say the words that were going to come out of his mouth. He’d spent far too long in the life avoiding doing anything like what he was being forced into by Wilkes, and Mozzie was one of the few people who could truly appreciate the exact scope of why it was a suicide mission. “I’m about to rob Edward Reilly.”

“ _The_ Edward Reilly?” It took Mozzie a moment to wrap his head around the insanity of the proposal; even though he knew Neal had been coerced into the situation by Wilkes, it boggled the mind that anyone who liked living as much as Neal did would consider going through with it. Especially since it was likely Wilkes that had come up with the approach Neal was going to have to use, as well. “What’s your plan: a gun in the glove compartment?”

One scathing look from Neal was all the confirmation Mozzie needed. “That’s your plan?” he echoed incredulously, still stunned that any of this was even happening. _I’ve warned Neal about pulling jobs out of a sense of guilt. That damned conscience of his is going to get him killed someday._ “A gun in the glove compartment?”

“It’s a long story,” Neal snapped, feeling the seconds tick down until Reilly would be getting off the plane. “But one way or another, I’m taking his briefcase.”

“Well surely, you won’t do this, because you’re not _suicidal_.” Mozzie knew it was probably a waste of breath; he’d seen the suit and the female suit talking to Neal, watched Neal stay even though Burke had been more than willing to take Neal out of play. But he had to try; he cared about Neal too much to not try.

Exasperated, Neal didn’t even bother trying to explain further. He simply patted Mozzie on the arm and started past him, needing to get to the gate before Reilly got off the plane to find no chauffer waiting for him. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

Mozzie’s mind was working fast now, already formulating a plan since cutting-and-running was clearly not an option. “But… what if he _gave_ it to you?”

Neal paused, Mozzie’s suggestion cutting through the panicked muddle his mind had been in all day. Was Mozzie actually suggesting…?

“And was happy to give it to you?” Mozzie continued, pouncing on the opening now that Neal was willing to listen.

It was an angle Neal hadn’t considered, especially since it required more than one person to really pull off, and using one of the agents Peter had left behind to cover him was too risky, considering who they were dealing with. He turned around to face his old friend, his expression appreciative and a touch amused. “Zigzag scam?”

The fake badges were already in Mozzie’s hands; he flipped them open, briefly checking the pictures to ensure that he didn’t mix them up. Such a mistake had nearly upended one of these schemes on him in the past, but thankfully he’d been pulling it with a woman at the time: the mark had drawn the heteronormative conclusion with a smirk and otherwise fallen completely for the game. That wouldn’t play with Neal as his number two. “One for me; one for you.”

Neal took his badge with an appreciative smile. Mozzie was always prepared for contingencies, and it was likely going to save his and Lindsey’s lives.

“Time to get into character!” Excited at the chance to fool someone with such a huge reputation in their world, Mozzie withdrew a pair of glasses from his coat pocket and swapped them out for the ones that he usually wore. Different frames for different types of people: the wrong ones could be a dead giveaway. _Emphasis on dead when it comes to Edward Reilly._

To anyone else, the subtle change might seem absurd. Neal understood the reason for it, but he couldn’t help chuckling just a little at Mozzie’s eagerness when only moments ago he’d wanted them to just turn tail and leave. “You’re a chameleon,” was his only comment, and then he turned and followed Mozzie towards the gate for Reilly’s flight. They needed to hurry more now than ever, so that they could scout locations for the scam and so Mozzie could get into position.

Still in all, for the first time that day, Neal suddenly found himself with cause for real hope.

* * *

Fooling Reilly ultimately went down without a hitch: probably made all that much easier because of Reilly’s reputation. Ordinarily, no one in the life would dream of trying to steal something he was transporting, because no one in the life would expect that Reilly wouldn’t disassemble them right down to the ground if he ever found out.

Neal might’ve wished that it had gone just a little smoother: June had been quite correct in her observation not so long ago: Mozzie tended to overact his part when he was pulling a con that required him to interact with people. In some cases, the way he came off was entirely appropriate to his pose, and occasionally even critical to the execution of the scam. But Neal’s nerves were already frayed, he was exhausted and he hadn’t eaten all day long. Neal would’ve been eternally grateful if Mozzie could’ve toned it down just a little.

Once he was alone in the car Wilkes had left him, the briefcase full of blank gold cards beside him and en route to the rendezvous point, Neal’s nerves started playing up even more. While the flight from Sydney hadn’t been late, it had taken longer than he’d liked to secure the briefcase. Jones and his team had to extract themselves from their positions at the airport and make their way to the address Wilkes had given for the hand-off, and Neal’s gut churned at the thought of someone from Wilkes’ crew noticing them, warning Wilkes that Neal had sent up a flare… that Peter wouldn’t have found Lindsey in time and all of their efforts would be for nothing…

By the time four PM arrived, Neal knew. Rice’s deception had cost them too much. There was nothing left to do but play this out to the end.

_“Neal, you copy?”_ Peter’s voice crackled across the transceiver. It didn’t sound relieved. It didn’t sound like he was standing over a body. _“Neal?”_

“Tell me you found Lindsey.” Neal knew it was hoping against hope, but the tone of Peter’s voice even over the tinny transceiver told him it was in vain before Peter could even say the words.

_“We’re going to need more time.”_

“It’s four, Peter,” Neal snapped, though it wasn’t Peter that he was angry with. They’d been outmaneuvered at every turn, and they were on the verge of losing. Neal _hated_ losing, even when there wasn’t an innocent life at stake. “I’m already here.”

_“Then **stall**.”_ The only comfort Neal could draw in that moment was the desperation in Peter’s voice, resonating in perfect harmony with his own emotions. _“He gets his hands on the case, and the girl’s dead.”_

The line signed off before Neal could reply, and the van that Neal had been transported in earlier in the day pulled down along the railroad tracks Neal was parked beside not long after. It was an ideal place for this type of exchange: quiet, seemingly abandoned, unlikely to be stumbled across by anyone except the odd homeless drifter. As the van drew nearer, Neal could see that Wilkes was in the driver’s seat, obviously wanting to see before anyone else that Neal had followed through.

Glancing down at the case as the van approached, Neal opened it to stare at the blank gold cards for a long moment. The case’s false interior had hidden the cards from he and Mozzie during the initial exchange with Reilly; a normal and even fairly predictable precaution when smuggling small goods. But did Wilkes know about it? Reilly’s itinerary had been an ‘x’ factor; how much did Wilkes really know about how Reilly was getting the cards into the country?

Wilkes honked the horn, and Neal waved him off, securing the false panel in place before closing the case and getting out of the car. It was a long shot, longer than he liked taking with someone like Ryan Wilkes. But Neal was out of options and needed to give Peter as much time as possible to find where Lindsey was being held.

“Right on time,” Wilkes commented, his voice almost disinterested. His stance told Neal that Wilkes was bored with the game, and that didn’t bode well. “I love that.”

Neal glanced around, looking for other members of Wilkes’ crew. They appeared to be alone; no one was getting out of the back of the van or pulling up behind Neal in another vehicle to flank him. Either they were truly alone or Wilkes had deployed them early to get into position for an ambush. “Where’s the girl?” Neal asked cautiously, trying to sound surprised that she wasn’t there. He hadn’t expected her to be, but there had been an outside chance.

“Unfortunately, I won’t be sharing that information with you,” Wilkes replied in a bored tone.

“We had a deal, Wilkes.” Neal was genuinely angry with the man, and letting it bleed into his voice helped sell the performance. The longer Wilkes was focused on him, the more time Peter had to find her.

“I lied,” Wilkes confessed with a shrug, not caring that his word was meaningless to a man he intended to execute in short order. “Give it to me,” he ordered, glancing at the briefcase in Neal’s hand.

Squinting into the afternoon light, Neal tossed it at Wilkes with both hands. Wilkes caught it easily enough, then knelt to the ground to open it then and there.

The appearance that the case was empty wrote an ugly chagrin across Wilkes’ face; Neal imagined that Wilkes had worn the same expression the last time Neal had undercut him and vanished with the take Wilkes had been after. Wilkes stood up, gesturing vaguely at the case still on the ground. “And I thought we had a nice thing going.”

“You lied; I lied. It’s like a dance.” Neal gave an indifferent shrug of his own, hearing the agents chatter on his transceiver. It was soothing, somehow: knowing that Jones and his team were in position and ready to back him up. That he wasn’t as alone as Wilkes believed him to be.

Until Wilkes pulled a gun and took the safety off. The comfort of distant backup vanished in an instant, and Neal felt his pulse rate skyrocket. “You pull that trigger and all those gold cards I just stole from Edward Reilly will be gone forever,” Neal warned, his tone sharp with desperation.

“If I don’t have those cards in my hand in ten seconds!” Wilkes exploded, gesturing with his gun and letting his fury show through, “I’m gonna make a call and I’m gonna kill the girl.” His voice dropped in volume, but the hatred and frustration at being rebelled against dripping from every word. “Then I’m gonna take my time… with you.”

The threat made Neal inwardly quail; made him want to call an end to the confrontation by signaling Jones and the Hell with the consequences. But until he got a sign that Lindsey had been found, he couldn’t take the chance that she would pay for his mistakes. Neal swallowed hard against the knot of fear in his stomach, refusing to look intimidated or give an inch of ground.

“Five seconds,” Wilkes counted down.

Neal stood unflinching, waiting for just the right moment.

“Three seconds.” 

Neal stared him down, refusing to even blink.

Wilkes pulled his phone from his pocket with his free hand and started to dial. “Now my guys are gonna have to kill that nice man’s daughter.”

“Who says they’re still your guys?”

The words were a gauntlet; a last straw grasped at, perhaps, but it still delayed Wilkes by another possibly crucial minute. “Is that your play?” Wilkes asked incredulously, having paused in the act of dialing Lindsey’s guard/assassin. “You turned my crew against me? I expected more from you.”

“Who do you think has the gold cards?” Neal knew the stall was getting more and more transparent. He didn’t care. If he could keep Wilkes occupied by even the barest hint of doubt for just another minute… a minute more and a minute more… long enough for Peter to be the hero he was and find her…

“You left them with my guys?” Wilkes didn’t even appear to be buying it, but he still hadn’t finished the call. “You’re not that dumb.”

“You brought me into this because I bring up the average,” Neal taunted, sensing that Wilkes wasn’t quite able to shake the kernel of doubt that Neal might be right. “Unfortunately? That makes you less valuable. Your men agreed: it’s time for new management.”

“You’re lying,” Wilkes shot back.

“Call them if you think I’m bluffing,” Neal challenged. One way or another, the game was about to be over.

Wilkes started dialing again. “I think you’re bluffing,” he responded, then put his phone to his ear. Dimly, Neal could hear the line connect as someone at Wilkes’ hideout picked up his call. He couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but the words Wilkes spoke next told him that he recognized whomever it was as being on his payroll. “Kill her,” Wilkes ordered, watching Neal’s face the entire time. “And leave the phone on speaker.”

Neal held his breath as Wilkes waited for his orders to be carried out, hoping… praying… _We’re out of time, Peter. I’m sorry, but if you haven’t found her by now, we’re out of time… Lindsey, I’m so sorry…_

Though Wilkes hadn’t put his own phone on speaker, Neal could hear the familiar announcement of “F.B.I.” coming through the line. He wanted to cry in relief even as Wilkes swore. “Sounds like they’ve got company!” Neal couldn’t help crowing, exulting in Peter’s victory. No matter what happened now, Lindsey was safe, and that was all that mattered.

Unable to speak in his rage, Wilkes picked up the briefcase from the ground and flung it into the metal door of a nearby storage unit. Neal watched as the impact jarred the false panel free and the gold cards spilled from their pockets across the ground.

For a long moment, neither man spoke. Wilkes was the desperate one now, furious with Neal for once again spoiling what he’d crafted to be a perfect revenge plan. Neal glanced up in time to see Wilkes level his gun at Neal’s head, ready to salvage what satisfaction he could before escaping with his objective. “I guess that makes you obsolete,” Wilkes snarled.

Fortunately, Neal didn’t have to give a signal for Jones to take action. He spotted the targeting laser dot just as Wilkes was preparing to fire, and prayed that his desire for revenge was tempered with a desire to avoid a murder charge. “Now, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Neal cautioned, the words spilling out faster than he could’ve imagined as he pointed at Wilkes’ chest. Wilkes glanced down to see a second laser dot join the first, and Neal started to feel like he could breathe again. “See: I got friends with sniper rifles, too.”

Jones and his team moved in quickly as Wilkes dropped his gun, giving Neal cover to step back and try to breathe more regularly. He took more satisfaction than he probably should have at seeing Price step in behind Wilkes and cuff him, but focusing on that was easier than trying to ignore how hungry he was, or how much he wanted to just sink into Peter’s arms tonight and feel safe again.

Or the niggling voice in the back of his mind that told him that Alex would be waiting for him back in his suite tonight. That no matter how much he wanted to be safe right now, ensuring Peter and Kate’s safety was more important. And that meant figuring out a way to slip home to June’s before someone in the F.B.I. put a new anklet on him now that this debacle was over.

The sound of Jones on the radio beside him brought Neal’s thoughts back to the immediate moment. “Agent Burke? We got Wilkes.”

_“We’re secure here.”_ Peter’s voice sounded over both the transceiver and Jones’ radio, and Neal’s knees wanted to buckle from relief. _“We got the girl. What about Neal?”_

Neal wanted to answer himself, wanted to reassure Peter that nothing had gone wrong and that he was whole and hale. A wave of overwhelmed exhaustion hit at the note of concern in Peter’s voice, and all of Neal’s words fled him. He managed a halfhearted wave of his arm in Jones’ direction, saw the way the agent’s dark eyes raked over him in assessment. “He says ‘hey’,” Jones replied for him. “Where do you want us to rendezvous?”

_“I’ll text you the address where we found Lindsey. Bring him down here ASAP.”_ There was a pause, and then a note of pride that everyone could hear. _“He deserves to be here for this part.”_

“Will do, Boss.” Jones holstered the radio and walked over to where Neal stood, his expression clear and knowing. “You look like Hell,” he commented.

Neal managed a half-hearted chuckle. “Helps to feel like it, probably.”

“Come on.” Jones stepped closer and pulled Neal’s arm up across his shoulders, then slid his own arm around Neal’s back to support him. “There’s a bus up around the building here; you need to be checked out before we take you down to where they found her.”

“Clinton, I’m fine-” Neal started to protest.

“Peter reported that you’d been shocked at least once,” Jones interrupted. “You’ve been the hostage of a guy who wanted to kill you since last night and, unlike the rest of us that’ve been up since you were taken, I doubt you’ve had a chance to grab anything to eat since you had dinner with the boss last night.” He started walking Neal towards the waiting ambulance, clearly unwilling to take no for an answer. “You’re getting checked out and a damn peanut butter sandwich, and if you argue with me, I will cuff you and feed it to you. We clear?”

The exhaustion and absurdity of the past nineteen hours finally caught up with Neal at the challenge in Jones’ voice. Before Neal could stop himself, he erupted into peal after peal of laughter as Jones marched him forward, only subsiding when he was settled onto the back fender and the EMT pushed a bottle of water into his hands. “Yeah, Jones,” he managed, smiling gratefully at him. “We’re clear.”

Jones nodded and crossed his arms. “Damn right we’re clear,” he muttered.


	6. Part Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be the last chapter, but there is a surprise bonus chapter! With feels and smut!
> 
> Thank you again to everyone that has commented, given kudos, or otherwise supported my continuation of this story and this 'verse. I love all of you! ♥

  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)  
  


~ooooOOOoooo~

_“He says ‘hey’.”_

There were agents milling all around him. Wilkes’ men were being arrested and removed from the building, and a weeping Lindsey was being escorted from the room by Rice and another female agent. But in that moment, Peter couldn’t stop the tears that sprang to his eyes any more than he could keep from smiling in pride and relief.

In spite of impossible odds, they’d rescued both Neal and Lindsey, and Wilkes and his men were going to jail. Neal was safe.

_“Where do you want us to rendezvous?”_

For a moment, Peter wanted nothing more than to have Jones simply take Neal home and keep him safe until Peter could join him there. But there was too much left to do, and Neal had worked too hard to bring Lindsey home in spite of the danger to himself to be denied his own part in the reunion. “I’ll text you the address where we found Lindsey. Bring him down here ASAP… he deserves to be here for this part.”

_“Will do, Boss.”_

There was so much activity around him; for the moment, no one was watching. Peter stumbled backwards until he was leaning against a wall, and then he closed his eyes and tried to remember what it felt like to breathe without the sensation of wet concrete in his lungs. The tears threatened to spill free and he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes to stop them. He couldn’t afford to break down here, much as he might want to.

Against all odds, they’d done it.

* * *

Stuart Gless arrived barely moments before Jones and his team did; Lindsey ran to him and he clutched her in a tight embrace, emergence from every parent’s nightmare evident in every line of his body. Peter couldn’t help wishing as Neal wearily approached that he could wrap Neal up as closely, could indulge in the tender, relieved reunion that came when a loved one had been rescued from lethal danger. Instead, he could only play the colleague, offering a joke to lighten the mood. “Where you been?” he asked, as if Neal was arriving late to a party instead of narrowly escaping death. “You missed all the action.”

The jocularity that was forced between them just now grated on Neal’s frayed nerves, but he knew he needed to play along. There were too many people here that wouldn’t understand anything else between them, including Rice, whom Neal wouldn’t have trusted on a bet. “Oh, yeah: I got hung up with an old friend.”

“How’d that go?” Peter asked, keeping his hands in his pockets to refrain from reaching out and yanking Neal close.

Neal copied the gesture unconsciously, wishing that he wasn’t looking for an opportunity to disappear the moment Peter’s back was turned. Peter would forgive him for it eventually, but the idea of slipping away from Peter right now was the last thing Neal wanted to do. “Think I may have burned a bridge,” he mused, watching the insincerity curl a smile across Peter’s lips and soaking it in before letting his eyes seek out Lindsey and her father.

Rice was there beside them, talking quietly with them both. “Looks like Agent Rice is ready for her close-up,” Neal observed dryly. It seemed monstrously unfair that, after everything she had done, she would still get the credit for Lindsey’s recovery. “Heard the camera crews are already on their way.”

“Let her have it,” Peter offered, knowing that her days in the Bureau were numbered. He would tell Neal later, when they were alone, just how much comeuppance Rice had in store for her because of what she’d done.

Rice looked up from Lindsey’s pleading face just then, extending her hand in their direction and giving a double-fingered summons. Neal was starting to believe that entire classes were devoted to that gesture at Quantico. “Aw, jeez… did she just give us the finger point?”

“She did,” Peter confirmed, unsuccessfully trying to hide his contempt. Now that the outcome was secure, Rice’s normal attitude was bleeding back into her behavior, and it grated on his nerves as much as it obviously did Neal’s. Still, he walked with Neal over to where the Gless’ and Rice were standing, not about to leave Neal to face this potential confrontation alone.

Stuart Gless reached out for Peter’s hand as they approached, his expression reserved. Peter could nonetheless see the relief in the man’s entire body, an echo of his own emotions now that Neal was once again within reach. “Agent Rice says you’re the men responsible for bringing my daughter back,” he said softly.

Neal’s eyebrows shot up in surprise even as Peter tried to temper his own reaction. That Gless might’ve initially given Rice the credit for finding Lindsey even in light of what he’d been told after Neal’s kidnapping stung, but that Rice was trying to honor the terms she’d offered Peter in exchange for his word on her team’s behalf was a much more pleasant surprise.

Still, Peter wasn’t going to accept the credit on its face. He refused to say anything that would make it sound like he remotely resembled Rice. “We’re all a team here.”

A moment of silence followed. Neal wasn’t sure what to expect from Gless just now, even in the wake of being given partial credit for Lindsey’s recovery. Before he knew it, an apology for the forgery he’d committed so long ago started forming, if only to try and avoid an emotional confrontation. “Mr. Gless-”

“I’d say we’re more than even now, Caffrey.” There was a catch in the man’s voice as he said it: real gratitude and forgiveness of past wrongs and a hint of how frightened he’d been for his daughter co-mingling. Anything Neal might have said fell silent, his former victim’s graceful act of compassion leaving him speechless.

Lindsey broke the tension, unable to keep from chiming in. “Thanks… for playing round two.”

Neal smiled at her, grateful beyond words that she hadn’t come to any physical harm. She might harbor some new fears, might not be as carefree in her behavior as she grew into independence as she might’ve been otherwise, but she was alive and unmolested. It was enough. “Don’t mention it.”

The Gless’ turned to leave, Lindsey drawing her father away in her eagerness to go home. Rice stepped closer as they passed her, approaching Neal with far more respect than she’d shown him at any other point in the past twenty-four hours. “Was a Helluva thing you did today,” she offered.

“I could say the same thing about you,” Neal offered coolly, his words not remotely intended in the same spirit as hers. Eventually, he would let go of his anger with her for her betrayal, her willingness to offer up his life for someone else’s without giving him a chance to decide for himself. But exhaustion still dragged at every fiber of his body, and the sandwich and water Jones had given him weren’t setting well in his stomach. He still needed to meet with Alex in his suite, and then he wanted to go to bed and sleep for a month… preferably with Peter’s warm, safe, strong arms wrapped securely around him.

Rice heard the insult in his voice, remembering Peter’s cold diatribe earlier in the day. Caffrey might be willing to forgive her, he’d said, but that clearly wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. “No hard feelings?” she asked hopefully.

“Don’t stretch it,” Neal warned.

Rice gave in with a small grimace, then patted Neal on the arm and stepped past him. Peter copied her gesture and then stepped away from him with her.

It was the perfect opportunity. No one else was looking, and Neal couldn’t let the chance slip by.

With barely a sound, Neal slipped through the milling agents and maze of waterfront properties to the streets above. Hailing a cab, he slid in the backseat, slipped Peter’s ring from beneath his shirt to clutch in his right hand like a lifeline, and instructed the cabbie to take him home.

* * *

“So, uh… you’re not sticking around for the press?” Despite how much Peter detested glory hounding, he found himself a little dismayed by the idea of Rice leaving before the press arrived. It would effectively trap him here until their questions could be answered, and he hated dealing with reporters. He wasn’t good at it, and he wanted to get the inevitable paperwork finished so that he could just go home and wrap Neal close until he could feel in his bones that Neal was safe again. “You’re the hottest interview in town.”

Rice shook her head. “I probably have a disciplinary hearing to prepare for, anyway.” That much was true, although it didn’t bear mentioning to Peter that she hoped, by not taking credit for the rescue in the press, it might earn her enough mercy to keep her job. She paused, knowing that Peter’s word was likely to carry a lot of sway given his tenure in the Bureau, and if he was going to carry a grudge… “About how things went down last night…”

She wanted his forgiveness; thought that it would save her. Peter knew it wouldn’t; he’d been in the Bureau too long. And, in the end, whether or not he forgave her wasn’t going to stop him from telling the unvarnished truth about what had happened. Between his and Reese’s accounts, she wasn’t likely to make it through with her badge. “Oh, look: in the end? We got it done.”

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t an olive branch. Rice nodded, recognizing it for the conversation ender that it was. “Yeah… even so, I hope we work together again sometime: even if you’re the one calling the shots.”

She said it with a smile and a touch of her usual arrogance, but Peter knew it wasn’t a backhanded compliment. On the extreme outside chance that she managed to save her job, they both knew she’d be demoted so far that new graduates from Quantico would have more pull than she would. Peter laughed. “One day I’ll remind you that you said that,” he promised, hiding his determination to ensure that such a situation would never actually come to pass.

Jones walked up as Rice offered her own insincere smile in response, holding up a replacement for Neal’s tracking anklet. “Got Caffrey’s anklet.”

Peter looked from Jones to Rice in confusion. He hadn’t thought about it when he saw Neal, too relieved at seeing him whole and hale to care in the moment, but the longest Neal went without his anklet being replaced had been when he’d been directly under Peter’s supervision. None of the other agents on the team gave a thought to getting it back on Neal’s ankle as soon as possible once an op was done. “I thought your people already put it on him.”

“Not me,” Rice countered immediately. “He’s your consultant; remember?”

It was intended as a jab, but Peter was too preoccupied to respond. Neal hadn’t been in his peripheral vision since he’d stepped away to talk privately with Rice, and it suddenly occurred to him that he could no longer even feel Neal’s presence nearby. A quick glance around told him that Neal was nowhere in sight.

Neal had vanished.

After everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, Neal had taken the first chance he could to duck away from him and stay off his anklet. And knowing Neal as well as he did, there could only be one reason for it.

“Anybody seen Caffrey?” Peter bellowed, hoping against hope that he was wrong. That Neal was feeling nauseous and had simply gone to sit in one of the cars, or that he’d ducked into Wilkes’ former hideout to use a restroom. But when a chorus of ‘no’s came back, Peter knew his first conclusion was correct.

Neal had taken the opportunity to go meet with Alex Hunter without being tracked.

“Damn it,” Peter muttered, ignoring the smug look Rice shot him as she walked away. “You gotta be kidding me.” He turned to Jones and gestured for the anklet, which Jones readily handed over. “Jones, let’s check the usual suspects.”

“We gonna start with Caffrey’s landlady?” Jones asked. “He’s been in this as long as we have, Peter; maybe he just decided to go home.”

“Without telling me? Or having an agent escort him?” Peter could hear the anger threading into his tone but didn’t try to hide it. With Jones, he didn’t have to. “He’s up to something, and I have a feeling that Alex Hunter is mixed up in it, too.”

For a moment, Jones deliberated. As they reached the cars and got in, Jones finally elected to take a chance and put his hand on Peter’s as Peter was putting the keys in the ignition. He removed it again at Peter’s surprised look, but it earned him the pause he needed. “Boss… I know.”

Confusion hung in the air for a long moment as Peter’s mind refused to accept Jones’ obvious meaning. “Know… what?” he asked. Jones just looked at him, compassionate and earnest and expectant, and Peter couldn’t deny that he knew what Jones was saying. “Jones…”

“Known for a little while, actually,” Jones continued. “I’m not gonna say anything; know you and Elizabeth both well enough to know it’s not cheating, so whatever it is isn’t any of my business unless you want to tell me. But I know you’ve been living and dying with this since last night, and I’m here to tell you right now that you gotta take a step back or you’re gonna do something you’ll regret.”

Peter was staring at his agent, grateful for the semi-privacy of the car. He felt close to hyperventilating, and he couldn’t seem to make sense of Jones’ words. “Jones… I… how did you know?”

Jones smiled. “I was Navy, Peter. I know what ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ looks like.” The smile turned into a smirk. “And frankly, Boss? You have a type.”

The statement had the intended effect, breaking the tension as Peter huffed out a tired laugh. “Yeah… I suppose I do, don’t I?” Jones chuckled in response, and Peter crossed his hands over the steering wheel, leaning his forehead against his wrists for a moment and remembering how to breathe.

“Look, Boss…” Jones offered, taking pity on him. “Caffrey’s not easy to manage; whatever’s going on between you probably makes it easier and harder in the same breath and I get that it’s gotta complicate things for you to the nth degree. All I’m saying is that you’re both exhausted and neither one of you is thinking clearly about anything right now. Maybe Caffrey’s meeting with Alex and maybe he isn’t, but I’m betting that whatever he’s doing is on autopilot right now. Let’s go back to the office while I call June.”

“Someone’s gotta handle the press,” Peter protested weakly. It was starting to set in how tired he was, and the shock of knowing he and Neal hadn’t been as covert as he’d hoped they were was wearing off, the adrenaline bleeding away and taking what little energy he’d still had with it.

“Price can do it,” Jones assured him. “Peter, trust me: Caffrey’s as wrecked by all of this as you are. I’d bet a year’s salary that he’s headed to June’s. You need a shower, something to eat and a nap that doesn’t involve nightmares about Wilkes cutting Neal’s throat or whatever it was you were dreaming about last night. That way you can deal with him and whatever he’s up to with Alex with a clear head.”

Looking up, Peter took in his lieutenant for a long moment. Jones’ practicality was terribly appealing just now, and his loyalty apparently extended to keeping secrets that Peter hadn’t realized needed keeping. “You’re right,” he conceded, smiling wanly. Jones’ answering smile was warm with validation. Peter sat up and started the car. “Do I want to know what gave us away?” he asked as he began maneuvering through the surrounding vehicles to get to the street. “Me and Caffrey, I mean?”

Jones’ smile was sly as he texted Price about handling the oncoming reporters, then dialed June’s home number. “Let’s just say that poker’s not the only game where people have tells.”

He let the subject drop at that, but Peter knew he was blushing all the way back to the office.

* * *

Jones had been right: June had confirmed that Neal had a visitor waiting in his suite. Though she wouldn’t say who, Peter was reasonably sure it wasn’t Mozzie, and that Neal was at least going to be safely in his suite until Peter saw him again. It helped a little, but the sting of Neal vanishing on him so quickly after everything that had happened persisted.

It didn’t help to know that Neal would only be meeting with Alex about one thing: the music box. He had been rescued from danger only to walk straight towards it again, and Peter couldn’t do anything to stop him. Neal was hell-bent on doing everything in his power to free Kate from Fowler’s control, refusing to believe that they might be colluding.

Reese had told Peter that he couldn’t hold onto Neal’s leash forever. What he didn’t understand, what Peter could never begin to explain to his friend and superior, was that he loved Neal far too much to not be terrified of what might happen to Neal if he let go.

By the time Neal was strolling up the stairs to his office, looking chagrinned, Peter had taken Jones’ advice. Getting cleaned up, taking a short nap in his car rather than in his desk chair and having something more substantial than a power bar had helped most of his equilibrium return, and he could tell that Neal had done the same. He held up the anklet as Neal walked in, barely looking up from the case report he was finalizing. “Forget something?”

Neal heard the acid in Peter’s tone and knew he was in trouble. He’d known he would be before he’d vanished. He only hoped that he could convince Peter to let things lie and forgive him. “Made it all the way home before I realized it was gone,” he offered.

Peter’s head shot up at that, the fact that he knew it to be a lie flashing in his umber eyes. “Just slipped your mind?” he asked icily.

“I came back,” Neal reminded him gently, wishing that it hadn’t been necessary. He didn’t want to be at odds with Peter right now. He wanted Peter to come home with him: to hold him and keep him safe. He wanted to tell Peter that he was sorry for disappearing on him with more than just words, that he knew Peter had been afraid for him, but that it had been necessary.

Setting the anklet back down, Peter returned to the form in front of him. He needed to finish this before he could leave for the night, and exhaustion from a night and a day with too little sleep wasn’t the only thing wearing on him just now.

He was exhausted from wrangling with Neal, from the ever-present fear that once the music box was found and given over to Fowler that Neal would vanish from his life, leaving him with half a heart and forever bittering the memories of what they’d shared.

“What did Alex have to say?” he finally asked, still not looking up at Neal. When Neal didn’t answer, Peter looked up to see Neal staring at him in disbelief, unable to hide his shock that Peter had known all along. “You had a long brown hair on your jacket,” he explained. Neal’s glance at his shoulder was a dead give-away, but Peter hadn’t needed the confirmation. “How many other brunettes you meet before work?”

The intimate flicker in Neal’s eyes in answer to that question worked on Peter almost as much as the secrets tucked into the corners of that sly, knowing smile. It flashed through his blood, sharply reminding him of the fact that, despite everything, Peter was only barely containing the urge to drag Neal somewhere private and make him moan Peter’s name for hours. “Don’t answer that,” he warned, needing to block Neal from saying something that would dissolve his restraint to ashes.

Neal let out an amused chuckle and Peter sat back, looking him full in the face. “All your brunettes seem to be connected to that music box.” _Me and Elizabeth included, damn it all._ He took a breath, then broached the subject that had been stewing in his mind for the last few hours. “You and Alex are planning to steal it, aren’t you?”

“She’s just an old friend.” Neal was prevaricating; he knew Peter could tell. But he needed to keep Peter separate from this. He needed to keep Peter out of danger; if nothing else, the past day’s debacle had only reinforced the imperative to keep the man he loved as far away from the repercussions of his past as he could.

“She’s a fence, Neal,” Peter returned, his tone sharpening just a touch. He stood, gathering up the files on his desk and setting them on his filing cabinet. He wasn’t going to get anything else done tonight. “She either knows how to find things or sell them. People like that don’t trust the F.B.I.” He turned back to Neal, once again seeking refuge from the need to touch Neal by slipping his hands into his pockets. “That’s why you walked away without your anklet.”

_Peter’s always been good,_ Neal couldn’t help reminding himself. _Too good for me to pull anything over on him for long. Still, I can’t let him talk me into letting him near this. I can’t let him get dragged in any deeper than he already is._ “That’s a fascinating theory.”

The non-answer to Peter’s conclusion was just another layer of confirmation. Peter chuckled and stepped closer to him, wishing that they could be having a much different conversation right now. Wishing that they didn’t have to be talking at all, except to say the quiet, desperate things that were whispered between lovers in the place between lust and shadow. “I’m willing to look past your little trip off the reservation,” he offered softly, “because you did well today.”

It was a relief that Neal hadn’t known he was waiting for: to know that Peter was going to keep his conclusions between them. Reese and his superiors would accept the “I forgot” story if Peter fed it to them, and the incident wouldn’t jeopardize his plans or his deal to remain Peter’s consultant. “Thank you-”

“Don’t,” Peter interrupted. He needed to say this. He couldn’t get lost in how much he loved Neal now, not with how close to the edge Neal was getting with every day that passed. “Just remember how it felt when you saw that girl in her father’s arms.” He saw Neal recoil just a fraction, knowing what that moment had meant for both of them. Knowing that they’d been denied such a reunion themselves, even in private, because Neal had chosen pursuit of the music box… had chosen _Kate_ over him.

Peter had no idea when the music box had come to symbolize Kate in his mind. He knew that Fowler’s desire for it threatened more than just her. But somehow, it had.

“Moments like that are rare,” he continued, ruthlessly quashing the way his mouth wanted to yearn into Neal’s, to taste Neal’s apologies and chase them with forgiveness until they were both drunk from it. “But if you try to steal the music box? I will catch you.”

Neal blinked in shock. Of everything Peter could have said in that moment, that was the very last thing Neal had expected. “Is that a threat?” he asked, a warning carrying in his own tone. _We had a deal about this, Peter… we were past this; I know we were. He can’t be so angry with me that he’s willing to abandon us again… is he?_

“Just the way it is,” Peter answered. He knew Neal would eventually figure out his true meaning. Would eventually understand that stealing the music box wasn’t just a crime he could be arrested for. It was the fall that Neal kept asking Peter to save him from, and Peter would be there to catch him.

But Peter also knew he wouldn’t be able to control what happened once he did.

Taking a long breath, Peter broke Neal’s stricken gaze and stepped past him, picking up his coat from the nearby chair. He turned back to Neal as he reached the open door, wanting nothing more in that moment than for this terrible day to be over. “You know,” he found himself saying, “you can either go back to wearing an orange jumpsuit and pining for the girl that got away…” He paused, fighting through the words that wanted to break free. Fighting down the “or you can stay here with me” that crowded on the tip of his tongue. “Or you can stay here, and do something good with your life.”

Those beautiful blue eyes were tight at the corners, and Peter wanted to forgive him. Wanted to reach out and kiss the pain in them away. But there were too many factors in play that he couldn’t control, and Peter knew that it needed to be said. Not as a threat. Not as a warning. Just a reminder that Neal couldn’t play both sides against the middle forever.

When Neal said nothing in response, Peter felt his heart crack just a little further in his chest. “Your choice,” he said, hearing his voice catch on the words. Unable to say anything more, unwilling to give Neal the chance to break his heart for good, Peter turned and walked away.


	7. Part Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, the bonus chapter with feels and smut! Enjoy, lovelies! And keep a weather eye on the horizon for Out of the Box Redux! ^_^ ♥

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

Tears gathered in Neal’s eyes as Peter turned away from him, putting on his coat and leaving the office. It was the last thing he’d expected when he came back here tonight. He’d expected that Peter would be upset, but nothing that couldn’t be mollified with a little charm. He’d expected that Peter would want to take him back to June’s and keep him safe: as safe as he needed to feel now that his meeting with Alex was out of the way.

Peter hadn’t even bothered to put Neal’s anklet back on him before he’d left. It felt like a slap in the face.

Most of the agents that had been working the case today were gone; having worked around the clock to bring he and Lindsey home safely. Certainly no one was here that would question whether or not Peter had put Neal back on his anklet before leaving.

Neal could walk out of this room right now. Walk out of this building and find Alex. They could steal the music box, free Kate from Fowler. He could run and never look back, and Peter would be none the wiser until it was far too late to stop him. It was an opportunity that he couldn’t have engineered better if he’d tried.

Except that Neal couldn’t move. Couldn’t bring himself to take the path that had been laid out in front of him. Because doing so would mean leaving Peter behind. Meant letting go of this strange, dizzyingly passionate thing between them for good.

And Neal wasn’t ready to do that yet.

Elizabeth had told him that he would have to choose. In leaving him behind without putting the anklet on him, Peter seemed to be presenting him with that very choice. But Neal wasn’t ready to make it. Not yet.

The tears that had been gathering spilled over as he turned back to Peter’s desk and picked up the anklet Peter had left there. He was well familiar with how they were attached by now. Blinking to clear his vision, he lifted his foot to brace against the desk, fastened the anklet with shaking fingers, then turned and left Peter’s office, closing the door behind him. 

All the while telling himself that refusing to turn off the path that kept Peter beside him wasn’t the same as making a choice.

* * *

In the end, Peter couldn’t bring himself to just go home to Elizabeth.

He’d had every intention of doing so when he’d left the office. Neal had made his priorities clear today, and Peter had been certain as he’d left Neal behind in his office that he would need to be away from Neal tonight to process that. To decide how this unlikely relationship would move forward in the face of it.

But the further he drove, the tighter his heart seemed to constrict: as if it were wrapped up in a string that was anchored to Neal at the other end, that was being pulled more and more taut by every mile he put between them.

Elizabeth wasn’t expecting him tonight. When he’d called her to let her know that both Neal and Lindsey had been recovered safely, she’d been relieved, moving effortlessly to the conclusion that he would be spending the night at June’s with Neal in the aftermath. He’d wanted that himself, until Neal had tried to convince him that he hadn’t been meeting with Alex on the sly. He still wanted that, if he was honest with himself.

And then there had been the broken expression in Neal’s beautiful blue eyes when he’d turned his back on Neal… eyes that at this same time yesterday Peter had been desperately afraid Wilkes would close forever.

The car was turned around before he realized that he’d done it: turned back towards Manhattan and Riverside Drive.

No one was awake downstairs when Peter let himself in; June had already retired for the evening, and was likely already asleep. Uncertain of his welcome after the confrontation between them, Peter slipped off his coat and suit jacket, hanging them up on the coat rack before quietly ascending the stairs to Neal’s floor.

The door to the suite was unlocked, the suite itself lit only by the soft glow of the city’s lights filtering through the windows. Either Neal was expecting someone or he was that upset by what Peter had said at the office. Peter walked in without knocking, searching for Neal’s silhouette in the darkened room. “Neal?”

“Peter?” Neal’s voice was a surprised echo from the couch; he obviously hadn’t expecting Peter tonight, and there was no urgency betraying that he’d been expecting someone else that might object to Peter’s presence.

“Sorry to barge in,” Peter said softly, coming to sit beside Neal but unable to look at him, staring down at his hands in his lap instead. “I… couldn’t leave things like that… not after…”

“Peter…” Neal reached for his hands in the dark, heart aching. Peter sounded as lost as he felt.

“You have to understand, Neal… you left me standing out there without even saying a word… you left me without saying a word to go meet with Alex on the quiet, after all night and all day being…” One of Neal’s hands found his shoulder, and Peter finally looked up at him, focusing on the reflection of the faint light in Neal’s eyes. “I thought I’d lost you.” Peter’s voice broke on the words, anguish held back all day finally bleeding through. “I heard you fall… and I didn’t know if…”

“I’m okay, Peter.” Neal slid into his lap, straddling his hips, hands cradling Peter’s jaw as he brushed kisses over Peter’s eyes, tear-filled and luminous in the darkness. “I’m here…”

_Not for long…_ The poisonous, traitorous thought sounded in his mind like a thunderclap, sending Peter’s lips crashing into Neal’s. Neal gasped into his mouth, twined his arms around Peter’s neck, surrendered as Peter’s arms locked around his waist and Peter stood, blindly bearing him to bed without breaking the kiss.

Neal yielded, desperate for safety, for a grasp on something solid beneath his fingers. He needed Peter to get through this. He needed Peter’s strength, Peter’s calm assurance. Needed the fire of Peter’s passions and the surety of Peter’s heart.

And somehow, deep down, he knew this was the last time he would feel them before this was over.

It translated into his touches, telegraphed farewell into his kisses; Peter grew even more desperate in response, teeth nipping purple welts into Neal’s skin, hands ruthless in their demand for Neal’s surrender. Neal gave everything he could, soaking in every ounce of Peter he could hold, burrowed his face into Peter’s shoulder and clung to his solidly muscled torso as Peter drove in hard.

They were beyond words, grasping at moments, imprinting the sensation of sweat-slick flesh and taut muscle, the sound of broken cries and wanton wordless pleas… each absorbing the feel of the man he loved, never realizing the other felt the same.

The first frenzy died away and they collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and lips, unwilling to let each other move more than a heartbeat away. Peter’s hands gentled Neal’s tremors as they came down, Neal reflexively kissing Peter’s lip where he’d bitten too hard. “I don’t know what to do,” Neal confessed softly. “Peter… I just… I can’t put this off anymore. It’s not going to go away.”

Heart clutching, Peter tried not to let it show as he ran gentle fingers over Neal’s cheek. “I know, sweetheart… but there’s another way. There has to be. You’re not alone in this.”

Sapphire eyes shuttered closed, indecision ripping his handsome features raw and something in Peter broke, unable to stand seeing Neal in pain.

Neal mewled, half-surprised and half-aroused, as Peter drew Neal flush against his chest and teased that talented mouth open with his tongue. Peter’s heart throbbed and flared in his chest like an open wound as Neal clung to him, tangled with him like Peter was all that kept him afloat… all that kept him alive…

When Peter finally relinquished his mouth, Neal was breathless against him, eyes blown wide and dark with need. “I don’t know what I can say to make you understand, Neal… maybe nothing can. But God knows you’ve earned the right to make your own choices… and no matter what happens between us, you always have a choice. You have to know that… I need you to know that.”

Neal blinked up at Peter, not sure he understood what Peter was saying. “Peter…”

“Just…” Peter faltered, words fighting for dominance, battling for voice. Words that would present Neal with an even harder choice than the one he currently faced… or would make that choice devastatingly easier.

_Just stay with me. Let Kate go and stay here. Choose me. Love me. Don’t go where you know I can’t follow._ “Just make sure that whatever choice you make is one you can live with,” Peter finished, throat clamping on the words, voice near to rasping in pain. “Whatever you decide, I’ll accept… I’ll respect… just don’t choose something you’ll regret for the rest of your life.”

_“You think that if you do this, you won’t have to choose between Kate and Peter someday, Neal? Sooner or later, they will make you choose, and I don’t know what decision you’re going to make.”_

Elizabeth had known. Neal knew now that she had seen the end of the road far clearer than he. Had understood that where Peter’s affections were balanced, his weren’t. Where she wouldn’t press for an ultimate decision, Kate would. And if Kate still loved him… if she really had been faithful…

Neal didn’t know what else to do. He surged up into Peter, catching Peter’s mouth with his own and sinking his hands into Peter’s hair. Peter moaned into the kiss, rolled when Neal pushed him back, arched into Neal’s hips as Neal guided Peter back in.

Even stretched and slick, stress made him tight, the burn as muscle gave way to hard flesh sharp and clear. Neal gave a stuttering cry as Peter’s hands framed his hips and Peter sat up. Bracing his hands on Peter’s shoulders, Neal almost pushed him back…

Until Peter kissed the ring that still dangled from Neal’s neck, resting against Neal’s heart.

Agony swept Neal, tempering ecstasy, driving another cry from his lips as his arms folded around Peter and Neal buried his face in Peter’s hair. They held like that, folded into and around each other for long uncounted minutes, neither caring about anything beyond the connection that even Time stood still for.

Yin and yang. Light and dark. Each bleeding into the other until they could no longer sense where one ended and the other began.

Both believing that this could not possibly last forever.

“Don’t make me choose tonight,” Neal whispered, almost whimpered. “Make me forget everything but you… please, Peter… please.”

“Sweetheart…” Peter shifted as Neal’s legs locked around his waist, pulling Neal tighter as he rose and turned, bracing Neal against the headboard. Neal was clinging, locked around Peter and refusing to let go.

Peter’s lips found Neal’s as he rolled his hips, long and slow, a slip-drag of pressure inside Neal’s tight heat that pulled another whimper from Neal’s throat. Peter groaned in response, his lips never relinquishing Neal’s, hands bracing Neal’s hips and guiding them until the angle caught Neal’s prostate with every slow grind and Neal was panting into Peter’s mouth. Peter wouldn’t be moved, wouldn’t change pace, wouldn’t let Neal’s lips have more than a millisecond apart from his own; every muscle in Neal’s body was strung taut, sparks dancing up his spine as Peter drove him inch by glacial inch… he mewled Peter’s name against Peter’s lips and Peter echoed Neal’s with so much tenderness that Neal could barely breathe…

Release crested and broke, a wave of magnesium white that sundered Neal from himself with a long moaning cry. Peter slowed, let Neal recover, brushed soft kisses to Neal’s jaw and ear.

And then he relaxed back, bringing Neal with him as he reclined into the soft mattress. His hands stroked soothing caresses over Neal’s sensitive skin, smoldering russet eyes intently watching for Neal’s to open.

Lust-blown sapphire finally met that umber flame, and Peter reached between them, coaxing Neal back to arousal, drawing uncontrolled shivers of pure heat until Neal was a trembling wanton wreck, his muscles clenching at Peter’s undimmed erection, still buried to his core.

Neal mewled again, panting cries of unthinking desire, and Peter started again. Rolled his hips up into Neal’s, bracing Neal’s hands against the hollows of his shoulders and watching Neal dissolve into a quivering mess of passionate abandon, riding down hard against every upward press of Peter’s hips.

Peter knew he was losing Neal; that Neal was slipping away. This passionate, decadent, glorious man, who begged without words for everything Peter could give, could vanish from his life just as swiftly as he’d entered, lost in a miasma of intrigue and danger and untrustworthy allies.

_Not if I can help it, by God._

Possessiveness rushed hot in Peter’s veins, and Neal stuttered out a gasp as Peter rolled him with a growl, hands bracing on either side of Neal’s head. Neal clung with quaking limbs, lost as Peter let his hips speak for him, staking a claim as old as man in Neal’s flesh. Demanding surrender Neal was all too willing to give. Neal came with a strangled cry, spine arched as release thundered through his veins.

And Peter still kept going.

* * *

The suite was almost completely silent in the pre-dawn light. Despite having exhausted both of them, Peter lay awake, cradling Neal against his chest, his young lover’s breath rustling through the soft down.

Neal was so vulnerable when he slept.

Gazing down at him, Peter couldn’t help being reminded of the youths in the Greek myths he’d studied in high school: beautiful, graceful, innocent and clever, catching the notice of deities whose intentions were far from virtuous. Those same gods usually plucked the fair ingénue right out of the world they knew to serve divine pleasures. Forever cherished. Forever caged. Sometimes destroyed.

Watching the soft rise and fall of Neal’s smooth back with each breath, Peter silently vowed that he would never allow that to happen to Neal.

Neal had the right to make his own choices, and Peter couldn’t stop him. But Peter could do everything in his power to convince Neal that there was a right choice and a wrong choice. Kate was an illusion of love, a mirror image. No matter what Neal felt for either he or Kate, what Kate felt for Neal wasn’t love, and Fowler would use Neal’s blind devotion to Kate to destroy him. Deep in his gut, Peter knew Neal would never see it coming.

He loved Neal Caffrey. Loved the sparkle in those blue eyes when he was inspired. The nimble creativity of those slender hands. He loved the way Neal cared for El and Satchmo, the way Neal gave himself to Peter in total trust when they were alone. He wanted Neal with him, always: solving cases at the F.B.I. by day, hearth and home in the evenings, passion long into the night.

And he wanted Elizabeth there, too. Wanted to hear her laugh at Neal’s outrageous flair and help Peter show Neal what love that lasted looked like. Wanted Neal to comfort her when she cried, share her gourmet tastes. Wanted to see them curled up like kittens, dark heads close, with a fire crackling on the hearth and the evening light filtering through the windows.

Peter wanted Neal in his life as more than just his mistress. He wanted Neal in his marriage. Sharing everything. But Neal wouldn’t say yes with Kate hovering in the shadows, the girl that got away. He needed to show Neal that Fowler and Kate were in this together. Needed to expose the girl for what she was. It would wound Neal deeply, but he and El could… _would_ help him heal.

Neal stirred, murmuring, and Peter smoothed a hand down his spine. The touch gentled Neal back to sleep with a soft sigh, his cheek nestling a little tighter against Peter’s heart.

_I’ll protect you, Neal. I promise. I won’t let you fall. No matter how hard they push, I will never let you fall._


End file.
